


The Father's Daughter

by Veritara



Series: The Bhaalspawn Crisis [1]
Category: Baldur's Gate, Forgotten Realms
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Fandom Blind, Friendship, Gen, Novel, Novelization, Sisters, sword and sorcery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-07-25 12:37:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 24
Words: 130,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16197689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veritara/pseuds/Veritara
Summary: No safer place for man or book in all the realms than in Candlekeep, or a more boring place. Until one day, Thalia's foster father Gorion receives a strange letter and they flee the castle under cover of darkness. Ambushed hours outside the gate, Gorion was slain before her eyes. Lost in the larger world, Thalia deserts the battle and swears vengeance. Seeking help from his longtime friends and her sister, Thalia's grit tears them around the Sword Coast as they hunt the bandits responsible for both the local iron crisis and Gorion's murder. But things are not always as they seem and Thalia begins to uncover a secret she thought had died with Gorion -- her true parentage.Meta: A full novelization of the first game, following Thalia, and how she struggles with her heritage as she seeks vengeance for her father's murder. Featuring a good fighter protagonist who fears magic, a female-majority party, sisterly love, betrayal, madness, nightmares, elven slapfights, a surly Red Wizard, and doing what she has to do to stay alive.Main party: Jaheira, Khalid, Imoen, Edwin, ViconiaMinor: Minsc, Dynaheir, Coran





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I intentionally wrote this to be fandom blind for a number of reasons and wanted to address some of the canon changes that die-hard fans of the game might notice.
> 
> 1\. It's not the "official" canon party that BG1 goes through with. Viconia and Edwin both are my favourite characters and I couldn't leave them behind.
> 
> 2\. I've made a sort of "base" pantheon of "the Chantry" in order to avoid having to list the twenty-odd major gods of 2E DnD. Instead, eight get to play major and minor roles in the story. Since this is a three-game/fic plotline about religion and gods, I wanted to make it simpler to approach from a noob POV.
> 
> 3\. A few minor changes had to be made when transferring from video game logic to novel-based logic. Despite being very funny in-game, having Edwin mutter and talk in brackets got real tiring real fast. Being Bhaalspawn also has a few more side-effects.
> 
> Aside from that, the rest of the framework should feel very familiar to anyone who's played through the Baldur's Gate games. Enjoy! Constructive criticism very much encouraged!

_ He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. _

* * *

 

The tower shuddered with the whip of the wind. When lightning cracked, it briefly illuminated the city of Baldur’s Gate below. The balcony of the tower was slick and shining when the door creaked ajar. A man clung to the frame for support as he stumbled out, dazed. Blood stained his tunic, but it was torn liberally to reveal broken chainmail links and an ugly wound.

Falling to his knees with a crunch and a cry, he settled for crawling across the smooth overlook. Movement was his only concern. His breath came in desperate gasps. The door slammed with a gust of wind. He waited, eyes wild with fear.

Fear of what, it was readily apparent.

From behind the door was a noise. The sound of clanking armour and slow, steady footsteps. The man gasped once as he listened with dread, but the footsteps had stopped. There was a grunt and, suddenly, the heavy door exploded outwards and splintered over the man’s prone body.

The figure that emerged was mythic in proportions. Taller than the now-empty door frame and nearly as wide, darkness cloaked his armor, the black plate covered with spikes and horns. The helmet’s face piece was carved into a skull and the eyes glowed gold with some inner magic. An almost inhuman roar left the figure, which dissolved into a cold laugh that echoed over the thunder.

“N-N-No, you can’t!” the man on the ground cried. Blood bubbled from his mouth and he choked on it. Finding renewed energy, he backed away, trembling with the fearsome sight of the armored figure, but the only things behind him were the wrought iron railings and the city roads many stories below.

“I will be the last,” the armored figure proclaimed, “and  _ you _ will go first.” He pointed one curved claw at the whimpering man.

The man dragged himself up by the iron railing as he moaned in pain and fear. “Th-Th-There are others I could show you!” he begged. “I could lead you to them!  _ Please _ !”

The armored figure pulled back a fist and punched the man in the face. He collapsed, dazed, as blood began to flow from his broken nose. He let out one long, wet, rattling breath that sounded as though the Shadow had already sat in his breast, but it was put to an end as the armored figure wrapped a hand around the young man’s skinny neck and lifted him.

The figure held the young man by his neck off the balcony. Dangling over the city, the man kicked out desperately, but only caught the twisted railings, unable to find purchase.

The grip tightened and there was the crack of bones and a sickening wet sound as the man groaned. His face turned purple, then red and white, and he lived no more.

The armored figure heaved the body over the rooftop. But it never hit the ground with the expected crunch. Instead, as the body whipped through the air, it glowed briefly, black smoke curling through the wounds and flesh. As it fell, the body seemed to collapse into dust. First the fingers, then the face, but soon all of the young man disintegrated into clouds of ash and smoking, charred flakes blown away by the storm. 

Only empty bloody armor hit the ground.

Finished, the armored figure returned to the safety of the tower as the storm raged on. Lightning flashed periodically as the stormclouds churned away, but with a malice and intent nature did not have. The inky grey-black clouds swirled into a great circle but more shapes started to form. A skull, cracked but not yet completely destroyed. Teardrops at the edge of the circle, as though a clock’s numbers. They turned in their assigned positions, dancing, mocking.

Lightning cracked, the brief flash giving sinister life to the skull’s dead eyes. Its mouth opened and a single raspy word made its way to her. 

_ Soon. _


	2. Chapter 1: Flight From Candlekeep

There was nothing like the smell of freshly hacked pine to put a dent in Thalia’s wretched dreams. It was a crisp, green scent, mingling with spilled hay and her own sweat. Imoen might have brought her a mug of too-bitter tea. Gorion would rather she have some quiet time in front of the crackling fire. Thalia preferred hit things. 

She grunted and threw her weight behind what would have been an excellent overhead cut. The blunted sword bit into the wooden frame of the practice dummy with a satisfying  _ thud _ , sending wood chips into the air. Spinning around, she crossed her legs and parried an imaginary slash from the other dummy before aiming a swipe to the head. Catching on the loose helmet, her attack sent the helm flying across the practice yard.

Wiping her brow, Thalia scowled and tossed her sword aside. What was even the point anymore?

While not nightly, the dreams were a regular enough occurrence that Candlekeep’s guards tired of shooing her away from their practice yard. Thalia used to be able to laugh off the nightmares, saying that Imoen’s hobby of digging up macabre bard songs made it too hard to sleep. She had never slept well.

And then there was the seal. A cracked smiling skull within a circle, teardrops at the edge as though a clock’s numbers. It featured in most of her sleepless nights. The mere sight of it caused her stomach to heave and made her want to run and hide. It convinced her the dreams had a magical origin, which only served to frighten her more. If only Gorian were more available these days, she thought wistfully.

The wind blew through her short and sweat-drenched ash brown hair, sending a chill down her spine. Gritting her teeth, she retrieved her sword and returned to hacking the dummies. Her loose day clothes chilled with sweat and her muscles ached, but nothing she did could lessen the dark circles under her eyes.

There was no reason a particularly humble horror story should have bothered Thalia so much, but she woke in cold sweats, trembling. Many times, with nightmares no worse than this, she woke screaming. And then Imoen would fret and bring her awful tea and would insist on talking. Thalia bristled at the pity. Bad dreams never killed anyone before.

The light of dawn crept over the high walls of the priory. She grimaced at the light and crossed the open courtyard to fall into a pile of clean hay by the animal pens.

One of Candlekeep’s guards hauled a cloth covered wagon down the cobble path to the inn. Cod, merl, perch. She smelled the fresh fish a mile away. The fortress monastery of Candlekeep rose high on the cliffs of the Sword Coast and many small lords hoped to gather favour from Oghma by feeding his faithful. At the very least, they hoped to avoid the wrath of the Bitch Queen, who turned their ships in the waves and called down storms when dissatisfied. 

“Did I miss all the show?” a high voice called from off to her right.

Thalia didn’t even need to look.

“It was a grand battle,” she said airily, “the famous Thalia the Bold, Ward of Gorion, and Aegis of Candlekeep ’gainst two foul drow of the Underdark.”

Thalia’s vision was suddenly dominated by the very pink figure that was Imoen. A muddy raspberry skirt flowed to her ankles and a matching vest buttoned over a loose shirt the colour of newborn piglets. Imoen looked down at Thalia through a ragged shock of orange hair, pulling a face that scrunched her freckles together.

“I thought you were supposed to be  _ my _ sidekick,” she said sternly. “If my sidekick goes off to kill drow, what am I supposed to do?”

Thalia shrugged and patted the hay next to her. “Kill dragons?”

Imoen dropped next to her, her blue eyes twinkling even as she scowled. “And what happens when Imoen the Magnificent runs out of dragons to slay?” She lounged back dramatically, loose bits of straw catching in her hair. 

Thalia snorted. “I thought you were ’Imoen the Quick’?”

Imoen pushed her roughly in the shoulder. “If my assistant is being ’the Bold’. I gotta be better than  _ that _ , unless you wanna change your adventuring handle.”

Thalia was just about to protest that they never  _ were _ going adventuring, so it was a moot point, when she saw one of the long houses around the courtyard open and a short middle-aged man step from it, broom in hand.

Her eyes widened and she struggled to get up from the hay. “Uh, I think we need to get back to the inn,” she said quickly to Imoen.

Dreppin started hollering at them to get out of his hay and was making impressive speed for a drunkard battling his ritual hangover. His watery eyes narrowed in anger.

Imoen groaned and extended her arms. “Help me up, Lia,” she said. “I don’t feel like getting swept to death.”

Thalia pulled the slight girl to her feet and grabbed her sword from where she had dropped it. Stumbling in their haste, Dreppin refused to chase them but he still brandished his broom as they ran back to the inn at full-tilt.

Imoen yanked open the door and Thalia ducked her head to avoid the doorframe. The inn was the second largest building only to the great library, but many of its rooms were full at any given time. A few overly eager visitors sat with their breakfast by the fireplace. The weathered chestnut panels and vibrant frayed rugs embraced her. She and Imoen had lived all their lives in the attic room, many visitors the worse for it.

Panting, Imoen clutched a stitch in her side as she leaned against a wall. “Can we … not do that running thing... too much?”

“My, Imoen,” said Thalia, scandalized. “I thought adventurers of all stripes were more used to such exertion.”

“Not in skirts,” she said, kicking up at it so it fluttered like a cloak, hindering her movement.

“Then wear breeches,” Thalia shot back.

Imoen bit her lip, conflicted as she looked down at the rest of her attire. “But my favourite breeches are  _ black. _ ”

Thalia chuckled. She put a hand on the stair’s oak railing. “Soon, they’ll call you ’Imoen the Pink’.”

“Where ya think yer headed, lil missies?”

Thalia grimaced and, without turning, knew Imoen did as well. Her stomach dropped as she looked back at Winthrop, whom Imoen had warmly named “Puffguts” in early childhood due to the man being almost a perfect sphere. He was a loud, rude slop of a man with more chins than he had fingers and a laugh to tremble glassware.

“To study?” said Imoen tentatively.

While Gorion had brought Thalia and Imoen from the outside world as his wards almost seventeen years ago, Winthrop had taken a fancy to them and Gorion let them live in the dusty attic room of his inn. Not many people in Candlekeep were fond of small children, even fewer of Imoen’s attitude.

Winthrop puffed up and hooked his thumbs in his suspenders. “For the chantry? I’m more like to be joining than either youse. Spring may be here, kids, but not a one’s told the weather that. The inn still needs wood, so hop to it.”

**)*(**

Before the sun had risen properly over the high stone walls, the two girls were already at work maintaining the fortress. Wood needed chopping, floors needed sweeping, gardens needed weeding, the pigs needed tending to, and Dreppin and his damned hay needed an apology. Even as they gave the crotchety man his due, the library dominated the skies at every turn, leering over the residents of Candlekeep. The six-storey granite colossus was peppered with stained glass windows and pointed towers and reeked with the smell of ancient parchment.

The priory and its library was famous throughout Faerûn for its vast archive of written works from all across the realms. People of all colours and accents flocked to Candlekeep, drawn by the security of the impenetrable militia and the wonders of the great library. The monks of Oghma, the Lord of Knowledge, studied these writings, hoping to gain further insight in the unknown. When their studies dried up, the monks took to chanting the prophecies of Alaundo, the great seer who built Candlekeep high on the cliffs overlooking the western Sword Coast. 

“ ‘White birds shall vanish from the North, and a great evil shall die and be reborn—’ ”

“Yes, thank you for that, Master Sarbek,” said Thalia with more patience that she felt was earned.

The old man snapped from his trance. “Speaking the Sixth Portents always calms me in troubled mornings, Miss Thalia, Miss Imoen,” he nodded earnestly.

Thalia lifted the heavy leatherbound book he was turning through and ran a rag pungent with polish under it. “Is that so, sir?”

Imoen shot her a look over her shoulder as she continued to dust the shelves, but it was already too late. Thalia’s careless words began the Master’s lamentations.

“Oh, yes, to share the material plane with fearsome gods like Bane or Talos, it was—” Sarbek shuddered so hard his gold-rimmed glasses slipped off his withered, wrinkled face “—horrific, yes, but to think our Lord Oghma was also thrust into a physical body and made to walk this world… ’Tis indescribable. Of course, though, once sundered from their divine essence a god is truly no more than a man—less, even. A spirit, a soul devoid of physical form or the godly ability to create a form from the elements about him. Even so, quite a few powerful and ancient draconic gods were deprived thereof their immortal stasis by the clandestine and wholly unsavoury company out of Cambury, who made enemies of many powerful cults and religions as they similarly dispatched their heads. Their replacements—well, you do not even know their originals. You do not remember it, of course,” he tittered, turning the page with a dangerous crinkle.

“I wasn’t born yet, sir.” Thalia moved past him to polish another table and sighed when she heard Sarbek speak again. 

Imoen gave her another pointed look as she slinked around the corner of the towering bookshelf, reaching over to quietly insert a twisted metal pin into an innocuous door.

Sarbek coughed a lung and folded his glasses on the table. “When word first reached Candlekeep of the manifestation, the high priest and I were scribing one of the earliest texts of the Wise Alaundo’s prophecies. It was a detailed account of the cosmic reckonings in the kingdom of Vanoch and the wrath they invoked by the Dread Three, but the priest was determined that it was a forewarning to the Empire of Thay, about the downfall of righteous pride and the self-serving man. And I asked him, ’What does it have to do with the Thayvians?’, and then he said to me.” At this, Sarbek began to laugh so hard he could barely continue, “ ’Sarbek, it says  _ red _ , what else could it be but the Red Wizards?’ ”

Thalia groaned internally and turned to Imoen. “Hurry up,” she mouthed impatiently. Imoen concealed a giggle and tried to jiggle the door again, but was making slow progress. 

Still chuckling at the stupidity of one of the scholars, Sarbek raised his voice. “The red was obviously a warning to the blood of the Vanochs should they continue to anger the Dread Three. The priest contested the Thayvian’s common reverence for their barbaric nameless gods brought further credibility, but we all know it was only because his sister married the Thayvian and the grudge he carries extends to the entire society—never mind his brother-in-law is a cobbler. A  _ cobbler _ . He has never been near those beastly wizards in all his years.”

Thalia finally heard the tell-tale click and breathed a grateful sigh of relief. Imoen slipped in the room soundlessly, but Thalia’s shoes still made noise that attracted the attention of old Sarbek. Imoen closed the door behind them and they found themselves in a small dark closet, stocked with restoration materials. 

“Miss Thalia?” Sarbek called. “Miss Imoen?”

“Go, go, go,” Imoen whispered, pushing Thalia ahead. 

“We really shouldn’t,” she said half-heartedly.

Imoen scoffed and rolled her eyes. Kneeling down, she dragged a heavy canvas bag of untreated leather, revealing a ragged hole in the wooden wall behind it about two feet high and a little less wide. Imoen slid through gracefully, while Thalia struggled past with her extra height and broad shoulders. 

Imoen wiggled backwards a bit to make room, the humid crawlspace stuffy and cramped. Just as Thalia settled the bag into place behind them, the closet flooded with light. Sarbek’s brown slippers were barely visible for a heart-pounding moment before he left, closing the door with a huff and covering the closet back in darkness.

Imoen’s bony knees pressed into Thalia’s back, shaking with suppressed laughter.

“I hope you will still find this funny when Gorion locks us in here,” hissed Thalia.

Imoen struck a match and lit a drippy candle that had sealed itself to the planks of the floor. “Oh, don’t be such an old fiddle-faddle,” she said.

The candle illuminated the crawlspace with a flickery glow. No larger than an alleyway, the space was just wide enough to comfortably sit sideways in and not bang one’s head. Imoen picked up the old blackboard and balanced it on her knee. 

“Ooh, you were telling the one about Drizzt and the Ice Dragon,” she whispered. She tapped the half-finished sketch showing a handsome dark elf facing off against the fearsome snow-white lizard, which, in chalk, could just as easily have been a large chicken.

Thalia settled back against the short door and fingered the series of balanced throwing knives Imoen had scavenged from the guards over the years. She held on by its blade and threw it down the hall with a practiced flick of her wrist. It bit into the chipped wood, quivering.

Imoen ducked low and continued her sketch of the famous dark elf adventurer and his companions as Thalia continued the story in a whispered hush. Gorion had raised them both on a thousand stories of heroes and legends and, though Imoen knew the stories as well as Thalia did, she still prefered listening.

The gentle scrape of the chalk and board along with the memorized bard’s tale and the rhythmic  _ plonk  _ of the knives into the makeshift target almost relaxed her, even though she had been on edge the last few tendays.

“And they all lived happily ever after.”  _ Plonk _ . “The end.”

Imoen looked up from her drawing with a stern look. “That’s not how it ends, Lia. Drizzt is still out there, adventuring and stuff. Saving people, killing monsters, and there’ll be dozens more stories by the time we get to be world-famous adventurers ourselves.” She returned to her blackboard as she daydreamed out loud. “We should find a wizard to join our company, though, just in case. All the best adventuring bands have a wizard,” she said matter-of-factly, handing Thalia the knives she pulled from the wood.

Thalia sighed and wrinkled her nose.

Imoen groaned as she wiped off her drawing. “I know you don’t much like wizards—”

“Arcane magic is dangerous, Im,” warned Thalia, fully aware of Imoen’s inane fascination with it. “Have you noticed most wizards go mad?”

Disbelieving, Imoen kept drawing. It was a magic wand, the gem at the end of it shining with lots of long lines. Thalia pursed her lips, knowing full well Imoen had pinched the same one from a visiting wizard a month before and it was currently secreted in a false wall in their attic room.. 

“Magic is beautiful,” she whispered guiltily. “Making something out of nothing is incredible. Have you ever watched the priests work over the gardens, making flowers bloom or warping the water fountain into living beings, how the visitors applaud?”

_ Plonk. _ “There’s a difference between wizard-magic and priest-magic,” said Thalia stiffly.  _ PLONK. _ “Priests’ magic is filtered through the gods, who monitor the powers of their followers. Wizards access the Weave directly and have nothing to stop them but their own ambition.”  _ PLONK. PLONK. _ Thalia let out a long breath and tried to count to ten, as Gorian had advised her many times, but it never helped. 

Despite being a mage himself or perhaps because he was, Gorion had warned them to never get involved with magic. More often than not, the layman who started down the arduous journey of arcane mastery would find nothing but familiar broken dreams at best, or lose their minds to the Weave and have their souls devoured by creatures from the Outer Planes at worst. Imoen didn’t listen and Thalia worried for her.

Without looking at her, Imoen yanked the knives from where they had buried themselves in the wall’s bullseye. Thalia forced a smile. Today was not the day to continue with this argument again. “Maybe it would be better to have Drizzt join us. His swords would be better than any magic.”

“Scimitars,” corrected Imoen, smiling back faintly.

“It’s—oh, by the Nine Hells!” A swooping feeling of vertigo passed through her, quickly replaced by a sinking feeling of guilt.

Imoen dropped her chalkboard. “Gorion always has a location spell prepared,” she laughed, surely having felt it herself.

“Seeing how you drag me into these holes, are you surprised?” Thalia resigned herself to leaving the crawlspace, but it was no simple feat to move the bag that blocked the doorway. “We had better see what it is he wants.”

Imoen stretched her knees with a groan, brushing the dust and shards of wood from her skirt. “Especially since he’s been all head-in-the-clouds recently.”

Thalia gave the bag one last push as worry pinched her. Gorion had always been available, an everlasting friendly fixture of Candlekeep. He commanded respect in the monastery and beyond its walls, being a former traveling companion of the famous wizard Elminster and an ex-member of Elminster’s own Harpers, a storied mercenary company founded in his name. 

Gorion had recently withdrawn into his office, brushing off meetings with fellow scholars and taking his meals in his room. While he hadn’t turned Thalia away, when they did speak it was brief and inconsequential, and his mind was a million miles away. 

“I’m sure he’s just fine,” added Imoen, reading Thalia’s silence for concern. “You worry too much, misery guts.” She blew out the candle and followed her out.

Back in the harsh daylight of the sunlit foyer, Thalia squinted as she felt the location spell seize on her again. The blurry figure of Gorion marched across the shining marble floors, his shoes echoing with every step.

“There you two are,” he snapped. “Shirking your chores again?”

Imoen clapped her hands behind her back and looked at the ground, her lips sucked into her mouth, but Thalia blinked a few times and his agitation melted into relief. The crow’s feet around his eyes crinkled in a familiar way but the lines in his face seemed deeper, his cheekbones more prominent, and his voice cracked from disuse. 

“Maybe if Dreppin didn’t drink into the small hours, we wouldn’t have to hide from his broom. Sir,” Thalia tacked on, returning Gorion’s tired smile.

“Have the priests still not taken his drink? What is this place coming to when drunkards beat children in a monastery?” He shook his head in mock shame. 

Sensing the irony, Imoen realised they weren’t in trouble and piped up to inform Mr Gorion that they weren’t children anymore, as she had recently turned twenty herself—although it was still in doubt how old either of them truly were. The smile dimmed from Gorion’s eyes and it only served to worry Thalia more. What could truly be so terrible that Gorion, who had always respected her as an adult, had decided it was more important to keep up a façade than to tell the truth?

“No. No, you’re not anymore, I suppose,” said Gorion. “If I may speak to Thalia alone, Imoen?”

Imoen exchanged a confused look with Thalia, but left the great library, the door closing behind her with a clang. The knot of fear in Thalia’s stomach twisted deeper.

Gorion glanced about, but there was no one. His smile had completely fallen, his voice lowered to a whisper, “Thalia, we’ve to go on a trip and I would like you to prepare for the journey.” He took a leather money purse from within his robes and pushed it in her hands. “It is very important that you pack your possessions so that we may leave before nightfall. It is unnerving, I understand, but it is vital that you trust me.”

Thalia peered within the heavy coin purse. Gold coins, all the same size. Dozens and dozens of them, each stamped with the mark of the kingdom who minted it. Thalia recognised but half of them. The wheat sheaf of the Dale Heartlands, the eagle of Everska, the starburst of Calimshime, Baldur’s Gate’s soaring falcon. More gold than Winthrop ever had in his drawers. 

“Wha… uh… and what should I be buying with all this?” she stammered.

“My dear,” he sighed, “purchase what gear you need to exist in the world outside. Armour and arms, chiefly, as I will take care of other supplies. The keep is well-protected but not invulnerable.”

“Wh-What?” breathed Thalia. “We live in a fortress, what in all the realms would ever want to harm us, or even be able to get to us in here?”

Gorion swallowed. The action looked as though it pained him. “Candlekeep is indeed a formidable obstacle for book-thieves and other ne’er-do-wells,” he said, “but no matter how thick the net, one mosquito will always find its way through.”

It didn’t escape her notice that he had dodged half her question, but she sensed this was not the time to press it further. Although he was clearly scared, there was no sign of panic in his face or voice, only resolve and a quiet, well-maintained fear. 

She cinched the purse of gold onto her belt. “And where are we running to from this mosquito, sir?” she whispered.

Gorion shook his head. “I haven’t yet decided, but we will both be safer on the move. I have old friends scattered throughout Faerûn, old favours that demand being called in.” His silver eyes smiled with the mischief of a much younger man but then it was gone. “Listen carefully, my dear,” he added in a quieter voice. “Our first stop will be the Friendly Arm Inn, where we are to meet with the Harpers, Khalid and Jaheira. They have long been my friends and, I swear to you, you may trust them with your life.”

Thalia nodded, her hands shaking around the coin.

“Meet me back here as quickly as you can, do not tarry and do not tell anyone we are leaving today.” Gorion briskly walked back out the library, leaving her alone for the moment.

Thalia’s legs felt like jelly and she breathed shallowly through her teeth as she walked the familiar path back to Winthrop’s inn, as though on automatic. What would ever want to hurt them? What would even stand a chance at gaining entry? Few people had the means to even enter Candlekeep. The price to enter was a tome of great value to be added to the archives and the monks were very discerning. More were turned away than permitted entry and many rich scholars threw tantrums outside the sealed gates.

Imoen already settled at the bar with lunch. An ale and a half-eaten sandwich of sliced apples and cheese stood in front of her, as she cheerfully chatted along with Winthrop.

“What did Mr G want?” asked Imoen.

Thalia took a swig from Imoen’s drink to settle her dry throat. “Can I see your wares, Winthrop?”

“What happened?” asked Imoen again, more urgently this time.

Winthrop laughed from his gut. “Look, kids, I know ye wants to go out ’ere and stab yerselves a dragon, but I can’t have ye blunting all the swords Jessop makes before we gets a chance to sell ’em!”

Without taking her eyes off the barkeep, Thalia undid the string on the coin purse and dropped it on the table, the heavy jingle of many coins a sign to any trader. “I’d like some armour, too, please. Mail, scale, nothing too terribly heavy.”

Winthrop’s smile fell off and he snatched the bag, his sausage fingers making quick work of counting the coins. He came to terms at well over a hundred. “What’re you doing, kid?” he asked quietly, his eyebrows falling into his eyes.

“Bow, arrows, a sword,” added Thalia, avoiding his eye.

Winthrop left the bar with one last uncertain look at the girls and went into a back room where he kept the militia’s surplus supplies.

Imoen tugged on her sleeve. “This is about the letter, isn’t it?” she whispered.

Thalia took the stool next to her. “Gorion said nothing about a letter,” she said, already anticipating Imoen’s answer.

Imoen bit her lip. “I saw it lying open on his desk. Someone had warned him about something, that he needed to get moving before… before something happened.”

A dozen thoughts flashed through Thalia’s mind, but none of them made it out her mouth.

“Alrighty, then, girls.” There was a resounding crash as Winthrop dropped three helmets on the bar and set down other pieces of metal armour that made an ungodly racket when they knocked into each other. “I know you’ve lifted yourselves a ton of daggers over the years—don’t lie—but here’s a proper sword. Try yer feel with that.” He pulled a long blade from his belt and passed it to Thalia. Winthrop’s concern cut her deep and she took the blade without a word.

She tried to swallow the invading tears she could feel burning behind her eyes, but the feel of live steel in her hands wasn’t helping matters. It was a straight, simple longsword, shining like silver, with the symbol of Oghma—a sealed scroll—branded into the pommel. The blade tapered to a fine edge that scored her thumb when she tested it. 

“Hang on, you’ll want two of ’em,” added Winthrop, waddling back to retrieve a second blade. “There’s a bit of a crisis with the iron round here and most weapons made with it tend to crack like a small-town girl at the Neverwinter Ball.” The silence hung heavy between them.

Thalia spent the next hour trying on bits and pieces of armour, trying to see which could fit, which could be cinched tighter or loosened to fit her comfortably. By the end, she sweltered with the effort, but felt better with a solid layer of steel around her. 

“And your opinion?” asked Thalia, giving one last turn for her vocal critic.

Imoen sat at the stool with a ginger ale and a helmet far too big for her sunk over her eyes, her red hair peeking out the edges. “I still liked the leather armor better.”

“Leather won’t stop a battle-axe,” said Thalia.

Imoen pouted and crossed her arms, muttering to herself. Thalia couldn’t help but smile. In anticipation, Thalia gave her slight friend a hug, the armour rustling. The warmth of Imoen’s arms around her neck and the characteristic smell of her hair caused a pang of pre-emptive sadness. 

“Here’re yer change,” said Winthrop, sliding the deflated bag back over to Thalia. “Anything to eat or have a visit with yer old pal Winthrop?” His brow crinkled in hope.

Thalia took her considerably lighter purse back. “I’ll come ’round later, back for dinner,” she promised, smiling, but her expression almost broke at the look of relief on Winthrop’s face. She turned and hurried up the stairs to her room.

“And don’t ye even  _ think  _ about leaving me behind and chasing dragons, lil missy,” hollered Winthrop.

There was a scraping sound as Imoen hopped off her high stool. “Nah, tonight’s pork pie night and I  _ never _ miss pork pie night, Puffguts!”

With the only slight reassurance, she nearly skipped up the stairs. Thalia was busy prying up loose floorboards, tossing the scratched blades to her bed. She had to make another trip to Imoen’s little hideouts, too. Thalia didn’t feel like leaving the weapons behind for Imoen’s eager hands.

“What sort of things should I get?” asked Imoen in a rush. “I’ve already got a bow and a few arrows—probably loads more arrows—and maybe that nice leather armor, and I could borrow your little sword.” Her hand reached sneakily for the shortblade among the daggers on the bed.

Thalia struggled with the words, as Imoen continued to plan out her adventuring kit but she didn’t need to find them. The quiet stunned her enough.

There was the sharp clatter of steel on wood as Imoen dropped the shortblade. “I’m not coming with you,” she said, defeated. “Of course I’m not. Gorion would never let me.”

Thalia sighed and continued to rummage under the floor. “You’re probably right. But I’m sure it’s for the best. Who would take care of ol’ Winthrop? Who would pick the nobles’ pockets clean?”

“Alright,” said Imoen, dejected but resigned.

Thalia narrowed her eyes and fixed her with a hard look. It wasn’t like Imoen to give up so quickly. “Imoen,” she said threateningly.

“Alright!” Imoen snapped, crossing her arms. “No need to give me that stink-eye, I’ll stay put. Harper’s honour.”

“You aren’t a Harper,” said Thalia, unconvinced. “If it’s going to be dangerous where me and Gorion are headed, I would feel better if you stayed here.”

Imoen withered under Thalia’s gaze and gave a long, rattling sigh. “But you have to remember to come get me when the danger’s gone,” she begged. “Send a pigeon. Don’t leave me alone.”

Imoen backed off when Thalia moved to hug her. Instead, Imoen straightened the blade back on the dresser and moved to leave. “Also,” she added, “there was some visitor waiting for you in the priests’ quarters.”

“Who?”

“Didn’t say. I just overheard Master Cohen telling Puffguts earlier that he had a guest waiting to speak with you and Gorion.”

Something funny prickled the back of Thalia’s neck. This wasn’t a terribly unusual thing. Gorion had old friends all across the realm and many, who were strangers to her, greeted her foster father with open arms and bright smiles, bristling with rich and colourful stories. They had always been interesting company and, ordinarily, Thalia would assume the same today.

But today was a special day and the coincidence was too much for her.

“Thanks, Im,” she said, slipping another knife into her boot. “I’ll make sure he meets with Gorion before we leave.”

Who knew? It could very well be an old friend of Gorion’s, a traveling companion with whom he planned to share the road, to even assist them on their journey, much like those half-elves at the Friendly Arm Inn. Although Gorion was a powerful sage, the additional protection from a seasoned adventurer would be welcomed.

Thalia suspected they might need it.


	3. Chapter 2: The Smiling Skull

Thalia walked briskly through the gardens and gravel paths along the outskirts of the great library. It might well be the last time she would see her childhood home for some time, but part of her still moved in a daze, going through the motions of packing and leaving but not fully believing that in a matter of hours Gorion would lead her outside the walls of Candlekeep for the first time since he had brought her to the fortress as a very small child. 

The sun was shining, the sky free of clouds, and the ponds a clear blue, flashing with the jewel tones of fish just under the surface. Nothing about the day seemed to suggest anything unusual. 

Thalia knocked and opened the door to the priests’ quarters without giving chance to answer. She hoped to be in and out as quickly as possible and report back to her father about this visitor. 

The highest priests lived in a quaint wooden house across from the library, filled with small adornments to Oghma and gifts that diplomats had given to Candlekeep as offerings of respect — exotic rugs and tapestries, ancient pottery that echoed songs of long-dead races, stones that soaked memories, and many other bizarre things, all organized neatly on shelves and tables.

When Thalia entered, everything was on the floor. Dirty and distressed, the wallpaper was slashed open, the rugs askew and tattered. The beds and pillows bore long, deep gashes, exposing their fluffy interiors. The precious books were fanned open in a pile in the middle of the room, where a young man sat like a bird in a nest.

Thalia reached back and put a hand on her blade. “Who in the blazes are you?” she said in what she hoped was in intimidating voice, but it rang out uncertain and hollow.

The man jerked his head up and he smiled a blinding smile, tossing the book he was shaking over his shoulder and stood in one fluid motion. He was filthy, from his lank brown hair caked in dirt to his travel-splattered robes. His eyes stood out, bright and wild, though. Candlekeep was want to attract all sorts but something told her this man was neither scholar nor famed adventurer. 

“Oh, my, I’ve gone and found you first! You—” He pointed a finger at out at Thalia, baring his teeth. “You would be the ward of Gorion. No doubt.”

Thalia took a step back but found the heavy wooden door directly behind her. “I am,” she said evenly. “What can I do for you?” She fumbled for the doorknob but it slipped in her stiff gauntlets.

The man took on an expression of gleeful surprise. “Oh, well, then. Our encounter might be quite simple for you. There is little time left to spare, hardly enough to explain either of our current circumstances, and so, as you can see, there is very little you can do — except  _ die _ !”

At his last word, he lunged forward with a knife in his hand.

Shocked that he would act so quickly, Thalia ducked the blade but slipped on the polished floor. He fell on top of her, the stench of soiled hay and expired man mingling into a foul odour. He made a feeble shot at her head that sliced a thin line open above her eyebrow. Hot blood trickled down like tears. Her stomach hardened and she lashed out. Her boot connected with his unprotected shin.

He howled in pain and rolled off her. Struggling to her feet, she drew her own sword just as he let out a bloodthirsty yell and charged back at her. She raised the blade at his approach and felt its entry as they locked eyes. The anger melted from his in a heartbeat, turning into shock and pain, his fists falling to his side, his breathing falling short. His knife clattered to the floor.

The blood dripping down her hand was sickeningly warm. It brought forth a bolt of scared triumph in her. Thalia withdrew the blade from the mortal wound and he staggered before collapsing. Crimson flooded from his broken chest and wove itself into the hardwood floors, blooming into the pages of priceless books. There was a guttural, sloppy gargling and a single wet cough.

Thalia’s mouth fell open and she watched the light leave his eyes, the last wrinkles of expression leave his young face as it fell slack and his eyes closed again. His spilt blood met her boots and slicked around them. Euphoria carried a feeling of lightness through her chest, bringing a terrified smile to her lips. 

He had been sent to attack and kill both her and Gorion. He had shown no hesitation, no mercy, why should she? She had nothing to grieve for this wastrel, this poorly-thought-out assassin. No reason at all. Still, it was all far too real.

She stood up and slipped on the blood. Steadying her hands, she took a deep breath and grabbed a fistful of his shirt to wipe the man’s blood off her best she could.

Thalia swallowed back the emotions and thoughts that threatened to overwhelm her, slid the sword back into its scabbard, and left the priests’ quarters behind. 

**)*(**

_ Crunch. Crunch. _

“What is the matter, child? Something more than our present circumstance?”

“No, sir. Nothing at all, sir.”

_ Crunch. Crunch. _

Gorion chuckled gently. “Those far more skilled at lying than you have already tried to fool me. Tell me what has happened, dear.”

Thalia watched her boots as they walked over the forest floor. Twigs snapped and leaves withered.  _ Crunch. Crunch. _ They had barely spoken since the heavy gates of Candlekeep had swung shut behind them with a hollow, ominous clang. There had been no well wishes from the guards or staff, as they had all been as concerned and confused as Thalia herself. Once they had stepped foot into the open world, there was no way they could return without a priceless artifact to donate.

Which made the assassin’s appearance all the more disconcerting. If he was as foul a thief as he was assassin, it was unlikely he could procure something the monks would accept as payment for entry. He must’ve been gifted it by someone who employed him, someone who didn’t care where their coin went. 

“I killed a man,” she said blankly at last. “He waited for us in the priests’ quarters. He wasn’t much, but he took me off-guard and I was forced to kill him.”

“I see.” Gorion set his head down and pursed his lips. A flicker of worry crossed his face. But not surprise.

An even heavier silence fell between them. 

“I shouldn’t have said a thing,” Thalia apologized.

“Oh, no, no,” whispered Gorion with a note almost like sadness, his voice and mind distant. She had a feeling that, had he been back in Candlekeep, he would’ve barricaded himself in his study again. “I am glad you did.” Gorion cleared his throat and came back to this world. “Had he given a reason for his attack or explained how he gained entry?”

Thalia shook her head.

“You know there was little option outside his death, either at your hands or at the those of the guards?” he said. “There was nothing that could be done.” He put a hand on her shoulder, the weight and warmth comforting as it always was.

Thalia shrugged it off. If they truly were being hunted, she didn’t want Gorion to think she was incapable. There was likely to be more bloodshed before they were safe and she could send for Imoen. “Oh, that didn’t bother me so much,” she said lightly. “I’m more concerned about them following us.”

Without looking up, Thalia could feel Gorion’s eyes studying her and she regretted her words already, but she held her silence and kept walking.

Thin beams of orange sunlight filtered down through the thick foliage above, barely striking the moss-covered tree trunks and casting long green and blue-black shadows across the thin cobblestone path that carried one across the Sword Coast. Thalia tried to remember her maps and studies and merely hoped there were road signs further up that might help.

Not more than a half hour passed before the thin light grew thinner and tinted more with the blue of nightfall. Shadows began to overtake the woods, forming into threatening shapes that had Thalia keeping her hand on the hilt of her sword.

“We should hurry, Thalia,” Gorion said suddenly, quickening his pace to match his words. “This night will only grow worse and we must find a shelter soon. There, I will explain everything to you over supper. I promise.”

The forest did not last much longer, opening into a wide field of dead grass, dirt, and rocks. The grey cobblestone path stood out clearly ahead as it wove along other patches of trees. At the promise of an explanation, Thalia veered into the clearing off the road to find a camping spot.

“Wait,” he hissed. Thalia stopped dead in her tracks, a few feet behind him, and well into the rocky clearing. “There is something wrong,” he said, his eyes scanning the dark horizon. “Ambush,” he said plainly. “Prepare yourself!”

Her heart leapt to her throat. Thalia strung her bow, whipping her head until she found it. There, just beyond the first patch of trees, not a hundred feet away. Their pristine, city-made armor and steel shining in the moonlight. Trained ogres, twenty feet tall with molted skin the colour of old porridge. Ferocious, armoured wardogs snarled at the helm, like a first line of pawns on a chessboard. The king and queen were a fearsome duo, clad in similar heavy spiked armor. She carried a mace and shield with some ominous standard on it, while he had a claymore strapped to his back. A dozen warriors stood at their sides, weapons drawn.

“Follow my lead,” said Gorion in that same fearless voice. “Do everything I say. They will want to speak with me, but calm yourself.” 

Thalia’s stomach sunk and any concern about finding out Gorion’s reason for leaving Candlekeep vanished under fear of now dying on the citadel’s front steps, crushed by a small army. Her fingers trembled and what-ifs cluttered her mind. She bit her lip to silence them until she tasted blood. Still, his certainty calmed her.

“You are perceptive for an old man,” the armored figure said when they came closer. Only a pair of hard blue eyes peeked through the full-face helm. “You know why I am here. Hand over your ward and none will be hurt. If you resist, it will be a waste of your life.”

His words rung meaninglessly in her head. Thalia turned desperately to Gorion, but he didn’t take his eyes off the threat. 

Gorion lifted his own hands as a warning, a magical, flickering glow illuminating his steady face. “You’re a fool if you believe I would trust your benevolence,” he snapped back, sounding far braver than Thalia felt. “Step aside and you and your lackeys will remain unhurt.”

The armored figure seemed taken aback. He drew his own massive claymore, a beautiful thick piece of folded steel that shone like obsidian in the night, and sighed theatrically. “I am sorry you feel that way, old man, there—”

Gorion struck first, a bolt of shining white light that hit the leader in the chest and sent him flying backwards with the force of a battering ram into the trees from which they came. Thalia let her first arrow fly. It struck the dog in the muzzle. It yowled in pain and fell to the ground.

Backing off, the woman let loose a spell and pillars of fire dotted the battlefield, reaching into the sky and filling the air with their scorching heat and thick, acrid smoke. Gorion called on a protective spell and both he and Thalia were shielded in magical bubbles, repelling arrows and spells while letting their own through. The heat thinned while the fiery columns still burned around them, screaming and crackling as they tried to break through. 

The clearing was lit with all the colours and smells of spells and magic, with their fumes forming a foul-smelling haze over the battle, as the hurricane of power disturbed the air with its malevolence. Magical fire and physical arrows buried themselves in Thalia’s shimmering purple shield and she returned fire at the archers.

Gorion sent a score of dogs fleeing with tails between legs, yelping in terror. The warriors who zeroed in on Gorion launched into the air, landing back in the trees behind them with little more than a lazy flick of his wrist and a half-muttered word.

The ogres were slow to move but when they did, the ground quaked under their steps. Teeth bared and clubs raised, they made for Gorion. Thalia couldn’t take her eyes off him. His face was calm yet alert, at peace with the battle, but he worked his magic quickly, effortlessly. 

In one smooth motion, Gorion took a pinch of chalky black powder from his belt, spoke a word, and drew all the electricity from the air around him, winding it around his fingers. Before he breathed again, the lightning wove itself into a tight ball of violet light and shot off at the nearest monster with a deafening crack. Connecting instantly, the tightly woven strands expanded, jumping from monster to monster in terrifying succession as they all fell to their knees and then collapsed, dead. 

The woman summoned another spell, this time aimed at Thalia. While other spells bounced off or were absorbed by the shield, this single Fire Arrow cracked through the barrier and before it managed to repair itself, she felt the heat and her armour warm on her skin.

The armored figure staggered to his feet, dazed but unharmed. The noise that came from his chest could hardly be called human, full of rage and wounded pride.

“Run, Thalia, get out of here!” called Gorion.

Not listening, she notched another arrow and looked down it at the leader. It wouldn’t kill him, but it would surely slow his return to combat and give Gorion another few moments for another spell. 

Her sight wavered and the arrow shook. Thalia froze. She lowered her bow. In the magical light that flickered over them all like a brilliant candle, his armor was thrown into sharp relief. There was a crest formed in his breastplate, molded in the black steel. 

It was a skull. 

A smiling skull, surrounded by twelve drops of blood. 

It seemed to hypnotise her. 

He picked up his sword and charged towards them.

Her hands felt numb. This wasn’t possible. It had been just a dream. 

“Run!” roared Gorion. “Now!”

They had  _ always _ been just dreams.

There was another bright flash of light and acrid smoke and Thalia snapped from her trance. As the light and fog cleared, she could make out the warriors Gorion had sent back into the trees begin to stumble out, weapons in hand and a newfound shameful fury on their faces.

She turned. She ran.

She ran as hard as she could, until her breaths were shallow and hurt her chest, as her armor clanked and bruised her. Cold burst of spells flew over her shoulders and the blasting heat of a fireball exploded behind her. Tears burned her eyes and whipped back into her helm. Pale wild grass grew to her knees and her trampling steps marked her path. She heard the screams of dying and dead men, but she dared not look back.

Gorion told her to run, that was an order. He was an exceedingly powerful mage who had fell countless trolls, evil men, and even dragons in his life. He would manage these young upstarts. Singlehandedly, he had dealt with most of them already, pushing and pulling them about like puppets on so many strings.

She ran harder. 

She didn’t want to think about what might become of her if he fell, of how she may perish in the woods. What the armored figure might do to her, where he would drag her or the tortures he would inflict on her. She couldn’t think, she could only run.

She felt the cobblestone road under her feet and stopped to look behind her. Sparse lights flashed in the distance, illuminating silhouettes. They battled, but with every flash of light, fewer of them were still standing.

A fiery maelstrom bloomed from the center of the battle, rising high into the sky to touch the moon. Between the flickering and fiercely wavering flames, she could see the a small pocket of clear, unburnt air: the center of the blast where Gorion stood, safe. The dry grass and branches of the clearing caught alight and added to the rising column of putrid smoke, the rancid copper smell of destructive magics.

The firestorm whispered away, blown out like a candle. And there was darkness, a few smoldering pinpricks in the distance. A smile of relief dared to warm her chest and Thalia stifled a sob as she collapsed under a tree near the road. Hot tears fell unbidden onto her cheeks.

He had done it. He had actually defeated the huge armored figure. And he had seen where she ran, he would come across her soon and she would be able to tell him about her nightmare, about this horned beast of a man, and—

“Thalia!”

She heard rather than felt the sharp intake of breath that assaulted her lungs. Her tears turned from relief to dread in an instant as the voice seemed to echo in her heart. The voice that called for her was not Gorion’s. 

But she had to get up. There was no choice now. If she stayed, she would die and Gorion’s word of warning would be in vain. Every step she took away from the clearing made that word all the more real. A small, naive, stupid part of her tried to say that the voice had been Gorion’s, that she had mistaken his rich timbre for a harsh growl, but it was easily silenced with her fears of who and what was chasing her.

He couldn’t be mortal, he couldn’t. Was he a part-demon tiefling of the Outer Planes or Chosen by the elemental god of fire? He must’ve survived the fire and raised his sword and… 

She hurtled down the road back to the forest of Candlekeep, digging deep into the undergrowth off the path and covering the glint of her armor with a low-hanging tree’s leaves. The darkness ought be enough cover, but if he was inhuman, if the armored figure could smell her or see through darkness like elves, he might end up chasing her all the way to die on Candlekeep’s door.

It hurt her to think that people she had known all her life would watch her die, but Thalia knew the guards would not open the door unless Oghma bid it.

She strained her ears and made out the distant clink of metal boots on cobblestone, the armored figure arguing fiercely with another, the woman. Her thick eastern accent tinged with a mocking amusement as he raged. Boots stomped up and down the road, closer and closer. Branches and grasses rustled. Her muscles burned as she held them in place. Then the boots left faded off into the night. They had left. She held her breath in silence but eventually had to admit that they weren’t coming back.

Only when she rested her head against the rough tree did she realise the shimmery protective bubble Gorian had cast around her had vanished. Its caster was no longer around to maintain it. She tried to push such thoughts from her mind, but the unfinished sentences of her mind left her as tears. The night wore on into her while she grieved silently and unwillingly.

**)*(**

Birds chirped and the sun rose. The sky was blue and free of clouds. The smell of burning metal was all but extinguished and was replaced by wet dew and spring wildflowers. When Thalia awoke, she half-expected the world to mourn with her.

She stared listlessly at the pine branches above her face, buffeted by a calm breeze. For hours, she watched the dawn deepen into the golden hues of day, motionless in her hideaway. Her muscles ached from the night spent in her armor, her arms prickling with discomfort. Heaviness infused her whole body, as if there were liquid lead in her veins. 

Gorion was gone, had given his life because the armored figure had wanted her and her alone. He was gone and now, she was left alone and lost in the wilderness.

She thought of Gorion, a pale, confused shade, drifting through the Grey Marshes, waiting ten days for Mystra or one of her servants to retrieve him for his proper afterlife in her realm. Hopefully. The Mistress of Magic, of course, was under no obligation and the gods hadn’t been kind as of late. She swallowed past her dry throat. The souls in the Marshes could watch their loved ones over those ten days.

He knew she had made it.

With difficulty, she disentangled herself from her hiding place and rolled out her stiff joints as she trudged back to the rocky clearing. 

She peered through the trees and found the clearing drenched in brilliant sunlight. A few trees grew alongside the cobblestone road but most of the ground was covered in sun-bleached, overgrown grass and dirt. Large rocks and small groves of thick-trunked trees dotted the landscape, which the road wove thoughtfully around. Families of bears, deers, and birds feasted, sung, and napped while the sounds of nature played and the waves of the Sea of Swords slapped the rocky coast not too far away.

It was perfect, beautiful, even. It was everything Thalia had ever thought the wilderness outside Candlekeep to look like, but the landscape was marred by a scorched patch of dirt in the center. From where she stood, she could see the faint shapes of bodies and the burnt husks of nearby trees that had experienced the magic of the battle.

As she walked, she half-anticipated the armored figure to jump out from behind a tree and tackle her to the ground.

Just as she dismissed her paranoid suspicions, she heard the fast-paced crunching of footsteps on the forest floor behind her, the whisper of a cloak slithering across wet leaves. She wiped the last of the tears from her eyes and put a hand to her sword, her mind racing through the motions in her mind of blocking and parrying. The footsteps sped up. The person was running now and getting very close. With every step, Thalia’s stomach tightened further. She half-slid the sword from its sheath.

“Lia! Wait for me!”

The knots in her stomach unwound themselves at a dizzying pace. The high-pitched whine was recognizable anywhere.

Thalia turned and was quickly ambushed by a short figure with ragged orange hair, giving the fiercest of hugs. By years of reaction, Thalia put her arms around her. Imoen. Who was already talking at full speed.

“—and I’m sorry I followed you and Mr Gorion, but I never had got out of Candlekeep and those monks and visitors are such bores. Never anything decent in their pockets and trunks neither. I… I saw Gorion last night, and I’m  _ so _ very, very sorry! I had such a bad feeling last night that something would happen to you out here and I knew that no matter what, I had to come. I wasn’t gonna leave you out all alone.”

Imoen stepped back, but kept ahold of Thalia’s hand, her eyes shining with tears and her lower lip quivering in anticipation of being yelled at. She had prepared for the journey, a full pack slung over her shoulder, a dagger in her belt, and a full quiver on her back to compliment the bow bound to it. Her best pink traveling cloak clung to the shoulders of the new (and surely stolen) studded leather armor. And black breeches were tucked into the cowhide boots. 

“I would welcome the company, Imoen,” said Thalia, unable to inject any enthusiasm into her voice. 

Imoen gave a similar feeble smile and stuck close. “I’m not gonna let you wander out here all alone. N-Never let a friend down, no ma’am!”

They walked, arm-in-arm, down the path towards what they both assumed was the Friendly Arm Inn. Thalia’s eyes kept flicking towards the patch of scorched earth a hundred meters off the path.

“Are you positive he is dead?” Thalia asked quietly, a small spark of hope building itself. “We could go and fetch one of Shadow’s brides at the Friendly Arm and bring them down here to resurrect him.”

Imoen’s enduringly cheery mood lessened somewhat. “That’s… not going to be possible.”

Thalia rolled her eyes, her plan coming into shape. “No, it will. Do you remember anything from your studies? Shadow’s brides don’t just conduct funerals, they’re also trained to raise the dead  — swords, or disease, or fires, any kind of injury. It’s expensive, but we should have enough gold.” She thought of the sole bride in Candlekeep, a wrinkled withered mute who seemed more than half her way to meeting her god. 

Imoen swallowed her words. “We can go see, if you want.”

Thalia nodded, already thinking of how proud he would be of her for going all the way to the Friendly Arm Inn and bringing back a bride. “We can carry his body back to Candlekeep for safe-keeping — Oghma knows their priests won’t come out to help.”

They strayed off the path and, with heavy hearts, started up to the smouldering pile of ash and burnt earth. Thalia felt she was holding onto hope by the skin of her teeth, but it was irresistible.

As they went closer, Imoen wrinkled her nose and put an arm across her mouth and nose at the charred smell. When the first recognisable details of Gorion were visible, she let out a soft cry and stopped in her tracks, only to speed up when Thalia ran ahead.

The burnt corpses of the wardogs and other minions were easily visible, blackened by Gorion’s last fireball. The burnt grass got darker towards the center ring, where it was completely untouched.

The expected crashing of hope sounded in her ears. It was obvious, now, why he could not be resurrected. While everyone could be brought back to life by a devotee to the Lord of the Dead, with little the worse for wear from even the most life-threatening injuries or illnesses, none could be brought back with what they had lost in life. The brides could only mend, not grow anew. Lost arms or legs stayed neat, seamless stumps and with skilled enough clerics, even hands or feet may be regrown in life, but one could live without four full limbs.

At first sight, there was nothing particularly wrong with him. He lay on his side, his arms under him and his legs curled his body into a fetal position.

“Is that…?” Imoen asked in hushed tones, digging the toes of her shoes along the outlying edges of the burned pit.

Thalia knelt down and pushed Gorion onto his back. His arms clung in an unnatural stiffness and his chest displayed the initial strike that ended his life: a slice that nearly severed him in two, reaching from collarbone to groin, displaying the incredible strength of the armored figure who had left this for her. What had previously been Gorion’s insides now stained his robes. He was very obviously, quite completely dead.

And this was without his head missing.

Gorion’s head sat some twenty feet away from his neck, now a ragged end, the bone neatly severed and the wound covered with congealed blood.

Legs numb, she crossed the distance and took the head of the man who had been her foster father in trembling hands. It was surprisingly light and she turned it over to see his face, the familiar features staring blankly back at her. His hair was clean but coarse, wet from the morning dew, while his skin had begun to take on a yellow tinge and waxy pallor. His silver eyes stared back at her in a cloudy expressionless mask that seemed to silently judge.

She rolled over in her mind what his last moments would have been like and the burning in her throat intensified. Would he be comforted to know his warning had let her survive the night? Did he, in some small part, place blame on her for his early death? Of course, if she had not been in his life, Gorion would never have left Candlekeep, might never have even settled down, and certainly would not have died in this nameless clearing for the sake of some girl.

And what of those of his legacy? Those who still remembered him, whose lives he had saved? Would they ever know or even want to know of his end? The world would continue to tick on, none the wiser. This was the end of one man, a seemingly insignificant man in the grand scheme of things, a small friend of mighty heroes and a footnote in a few choice bard songs. And now, without any guidance, the two children he had given his life to raise would likely not make it much longer in the world and die the same nameless, unimportant deaths as he had.

“They wanted to kill me,” she whispered to the lifeless head she held. “They had been looking for an opportunity, waiting for us to leave. There were so many…”

Imoen cleared her throat. “Well, aren’t  _ you _ the popular one?”

Thalia almost dropped the head in her haste to give Imoen a dirty look. Returning the head to the body, Thalia set him back to how she found him, in the sleeping fetal position to give him some semblance of dignity. She wiped her hands on her thighs and stood, taking Gorion’s pack from where it sat, left obviously waiting for her.

“Sorry, that wasn’t very nice, was it?” Imoen lost the glint in her eye. “If it were so desperate to be having you, it might come back. Don’t worry, though,” she said without a hint of irony, “Imoen the Magnificent will protect you.”

“Can Imoen the Magnificent liven up  _ this _ right here?” Thalia felt her voice lower and get cold as she pointed towards his dead body.

Imoen hung her head. “No. No, she can’t.”

Satisfied, Thalia brushed past Imoen and headed back for the road.

“The least we could do is give Mr Gorion a proper burial,” said Imoen, almost to herself. “If I were there, I’d like someone to bury me, as well.”

Thalia didn’t even stop walking. “Come along, Imoen,” she said, surprised to hear how normal her voice was in tone. An ache burned in her nose and throat, a thickness that didn’t penetrate her heart. “It’s just a body. Let it rot.”

It wasn’t until they had walked along the road for some time that Thalia noticed her vision become distinctly blurry, the trees and landscape muddying together. She wiped the tears from her eyes and continued on. She felt numb, hard and cold, as though she had vacated her body and was now a mere passenger as she led Imoen through the forest. The world moved around her, but she was not present, nor could she summon the will to be.

Although Gorion’s body was now several miles behind them, she still saw him when she closed her eyes. Her entire world centered on the image of the body of the man who had been her father: the smell of rotting flesh just taking to the sun’s heat, the stiffened corpse that bore no resemblance to the man so compassionate and active, the vast quantities of blood and bile that poured from a body, and the clear, concise message that, through all this, Thalia managed to receive from the armoured figure.

_ “Hand over your ward and none shall be hurt…”  _

She wiped her tears with the back of her gauntlet, slung Gorion’s pack over her shoulder, and continued on.


	4. Chapter 3: Warm Fires and Friendly Faces

By the late morning, the sun beat down on them with an unseasonal heat. Before they had turned the next corner, Imoen had gathered herself together and had returned to her effortlessly cheerful self, making comments on the fluffiness of the wolves’ pelts, the adventures they would soon have, and the fanciful names the bards would call her, all with the disinterested minimal replies of Thalia.

All she could focus on was the Friendly Arm Inn and her vague, decade-old memories of Gorion’s half-elven friends. While these strangers weren’t likely to know anymore than her about these events, the Inn could at least provide somewhere safe to rest. Then again, nowhere was truly safe.

The unwelcome, thuddy beat of her heart assured Thalia that she was still alive, still functioning, and should therefore continue onwards. Imoen was right. The armoured figure might return and they needed to put as much distance between that clearing and them as they could. Another, smaller part of her tried to let her mourn. Perhaps if she cried, if she discussed it with Imoen, if she cursed at the trees and screamed at the sky then perhaps the crawling, anxious pit in her stomach would heal.

Somehow, she doubted it.

**)*(**

“Why didn’t you pack better supplies?”

“Why don’t you go hunt us a rabbit, then?”

Imoen gave Thalia a hard look as she bit vengefully into her dry bread. Bundled together neatly in cheesecloth, Gorion had packed muenster cheese, rubbery dried apple slices, jerky that could be used to hammer nails, and a few roughly torn loaves of coarse dark bread. It was a far cry from Winthrop’s kitchen.

“We only stopped because you insisted,” said Thalia.

“I would’ve collapsed from exhaustion!” she argued.

“No wonder you didn’t catch that rabbit,” said Thalia, rather more harshly than she meant.

Imoen stomped up from their small camp in a huff, which really just amounted to their packs half-open around a fallen log they sat on as they ate lunch. She picked up her bow and took an arrow from her quiver. 

“I shall return with proper food,” she announced loftily before setting off into the tall grass, where the thumping jumps of rabbits thundered like small horses.

Thalia shook her head and continued to pick at the food. She eyed his pack uneasily. She still hadn’t opened it and now, with Imoen trying and surely failing to hunt, it might be a good opportunity. She gently put a hand on the thin worn leather of the bag, feeling the cracks and stains that spoke of years of use. 

With one last look over to Imoen, who continued to scout the grass for rabbits. Thalia unbuckled the bag and took it into her lap, sifting through the contents as impersonally as she could bear. A change of clothes, more tasteless provisions, a black satchel that contained components for casting spells labeled with magical script in neat vials and cushioned glass bottles, parchment, quills and ink, and a money purse with well more than five hundred gold coins, the last of his life savings.

And, as she suspected, a letter, hidden in a tube. The bright gold seal was broken but Thalia could still make out the symbol stamped into the wax: a wide crescent moon on its side with its points up and an oval over the crescent gap.

She unfurled it with trembling fingers and read the spindly handwriting.

 

_ My friend Gorion, _

_ The time is short and there is much to be done. What we have long feared may soon come to pass, though not in the manner once foretold, and certainly not within the proper time frame. As we both know, forecasting these events has proved increasingly difficult, leaving little option other than a leap of faith.  _

_ We have done what we can for those in our care, but the time nears when we  _ **must** _ step back and let matters take what course they will. We have, perhaps, been a touch too sheltering to this point, I fear. There is only so much that may be done.  _

_ Despite my requirement to remain neutral in such events, I could not, in good conscience, let events proceed without some measure of warning. The other side will move very soon in the Sword Coast. Hassan has already lost her own and Vandal’s were stolen the month before. _

_ I urge to leave Candlekeep this very night, if possible. They know of the first, but not the second, though I know it will be of little comfort this night The darkness may seem equally threatening, but a moving target is much harder to hit, regardless of how sparse the cover.  _

_ A fighting chance is all that can be asked for at this point. _

_ May the Mistress guide you. _

__ E _ _

 

 

Rather than answering her questions, the letter made it abundantly clear how little she actually knew about her present situation. He had some indication they were to be attacked, even before receiving this letter, but had done nothing to help and had, even worse, kept it all from her. These events, whatever was unfolding, were known well in advance.

Her hands clenched harder on the letter, scrunching the parchment in her bitterness.

It was not only the lack of knowledge that tore into her, but the lack of trust he had put in her. He had not trusted her to know. She swallowed a knife of betrayal.

While she silently fumed, she hardly noticed a man come down the road behind her until he sat next to her on the log. “Ho there, wanderer,” he said in a rich, deep voice.

Thalia moved to stuff the letter back into the bag and move the precious money and spell components from the stranger’s reach. “Who in the all the Planes are you?” she snapped.

The man smiled through his well-trimmed white beard. His wide-sleeved blue robe hung open, showing a rugged set of muddy traveling clothes. Despite his apparent age and heavy wrinkles, a sword in a gilded leather sheath hung from his hip and, for some reason, Thalia wouldn’t bet against him. He walked with a staff and set a pack down next to hers with a creaky groan.

She moved for her blade but she felt strangely at ease with this man. His stern hooked features reminded her of some of the monks — he might even have been on his way to visit Candlekeep — but his eyes were a bright sea blue and felt comforting.

“Stay thy course a moment to indulge an old man,” he said. His eyes swept over her in a very personal way, as though he were examining every inch of her. “It’s been nigh unto a tenday since I’ve seen a soul walking this road, and I’ve been without decent conversation ever since. Traveling nowadays appears to be the domain of either the desperate or the deranged. If thou would pardon my intrusion, may I inquire which pertains to thee and thine companion?” He lifted a gnarled hand to point towards Imoen, waist-high in the grass and calling for rabbits.

Smiling wryly, Thalia said, “She’s going to be a famous adventurer someday, like Drizzt.”

The old man chuckled and nodded. “Imoen is indeed a spirited girl but I asked of thee as well.”

Dread began to settle deep in her belly. “Not to imply anything, but how well to do you measure up to your own standards, then?” she said coldly, sounding braver than she felt. “Pestering strangers about their mental state doesn’t seem so well-adjusted to me.” She felt her fingers wrap around the cold hilt of the sword and a wave of security washed over her.

The man nodded, his smile fading behind the hair. “Point well taken, and thou hast answered my query most adequately,” he said with respect. “I shall think of thee as determined instead. I shall trouble thee no longer and instead continue on my journey.” The man reached for his bag and Thalia stood with him, her sword at her side.

He shuffled on forwards, leaning on his cane, for maybe twenty feet before he turned back to her and said, “How well-adjusted one is may be determined by looking at their past and their future, for actions will speak volumes where men say little. Any know my history and record of deeds would know who I am and what I stand for. That’s a rare and precious thing. Tell me, Thalia, doth thou know exactly what thou stand for?”

Confused and feeling threatened, she wrinkled her brow in anticipation of a fight, but words were all the old man had to give and he continued down the road, her eyes boring into his back. She wasn’t prepared to take her eyes off him until he turned the corner, out of sight, but he never did. Instead, he simply melted into the dense foliage without a trace.

The odd old man’s appearance unsettled Thalia even more than the letter did. While strangers exchanging a few words on the road wasn’t uncommon, and she and Imoen had a few times already, the man’s poignant parting question bothered her. Although it was almost unthinkable that random strangers on the road could have more knowledge about her future than she did, she thought it all the same.

She wanted to put as much distance as she could between this man, her father’s corpse, and herself as she could. She threw their things together and yelled at Imoen, who seemed to understand her desperation if not her reasoning behind it and began hopping through the grass.

“Couldn’t catch one, even missed shooting them,” she said breathlessly, smelling like sun-drenched hay and sweat. “Is lunch over?”

Thalia threw Imoen her own pack and headed down the road, opposite the way the old man went. “Lunch is over. If we hurry, we should make the Friendly Arm Inn by nightfall.”

And she intended to hurry.

**)*(**

“Stop walking so quickly, Thalia!” Imoen called after her. “The Friendly Arm’s not going anywhere!”

Thalia continued to march ahead, shouting over her shoulder, “If you stopped playing with that damn ring, we might’ve been there already.”

Imoen guiltily tucked away the shiny brass ring she had been polishing. She had been fishing in the pockets of some of the travelers they had passed and Thalia considered themselves lucky to avoid a fight with those mages. 

Imoen ran to catch up. “I know it’s magic, I just don’t know what  _ kind _ of magic,” she explained.

“With our luck, it’s a curse that will flatten the Inn,” said Thalia.

“Luck?” laughed Imoen. “Don’t forget, Tymora favours rogues and all who walk her roads. That means we’re extra lucky now.”

Thalia grimaced. Lady of Luck certainly hadn’t favoured her father. She tried to throw the thought from her mind.

Imoen hustled to keep up with the much taller Thalia’s long steps. “What’s the rush, anyways?”

“I don’t want anyone following us,” Thalia admitted. She eyed the crossroads ahead and the carved stone marker at the corner. Looking over her shoulder again, she turned them down the correct path. “There’s just too much I don’t know about all this.”

Imoen nodded sagely. “Lots of evil stuff going around, but I’m sure we’ll get through it all.”

Thalia reflected on Imoen’s good-natured face, her effervescent smile, the carefree way she brushed off the death of a man she knew and loved, and decided that, no, Imoen did not need the burden of the letter on her shoulders. Imoen believed the danger to be mostly over and done with, that all that was left was the grand scheme of noble revenge, where they would slay his killers and be sung about in every tavern from Icewind Vale to the Shadowlands. Thalia would at least give her tonight. 

The light filtering through the trees grew even thinner and darker. The colourful sunset had already past and it was perhaps another hour before the total darkness would choke them in the woods. The winding cobblestone path gradually became better maintained and neater, the stones smoother from all the foot traffic these roads had seen. 

As they turned the last corner, Imoen let out a gasp and Thalia could hardly blame her. The Friendly Arm Inn was not so much an inn as it was a fortress. The keep had imposing castle walls surrounding the inner courtyard, while towers poked above, peppered with bright yellow light from within that looked cozy and warm. The familiar homey smells of farm animals and roasting meat wafted through the drawbridge, which was staffed by a dozen well-armed and -armoured mercenary guards bearing the logo of the Flaming Fist company on their shields and cloaks.

Within the keep, the Arm was peaceful and, with the armed militia out front, looked as though it would stay that way. The muffled sounds of general merriment, drinking, and singing came from within the actual Inn, while townsfolk houses were mostly closed down, their animals resting. The humble limestone chantry, however, had no door to ever close it to the public and a robed Dawnbringer held a late night sermon.

Beside her, Imoen almost collapsed. “It’s  _ huge! _ ” she said, turning on the spot as she squinted to look at the top of the Inn. “Far bigger than the towers at Candlekeep.”

“Let’s just get inside and have a hot meal,” said Thalia. She dragged Imoen away from the chantry and lead her up the stairs to the inn. “We can explore in the morning.”

“Hello, friend,” a smooth voice said from the shadows. A man peeled himself off the wall next to the entrance of the inn and smiled, his teeth glinting as the only evidence he was there. He wore a set of black robes and had dark hair that was just taking to gray. “Forgive me, but I heard you mention Candlekeep,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for some friends to come by the western road — you might have seen them?”

“Well, we came by that road,” said Thalia, “but not many are traveling this way.” She tried to brush past him. 

“You did?” He caught her arm and held her still in a hard grip. His smile widened, his eyes staying cold. “Apologies,” he said in a very unapologetic voice, “but I am looking for Thalia, the Ward of Gorion, who has come by Candlekeep, are you not her?

Disgruntled, Thalia shook his hand off, which he released with a small bow of apology and crossed his arms. 

Could this be Khalid, one of the warriors her father had mentioned? He looked to be well-built and those robes could easily conceal a suit of armour. Yes, this could be him. Seasoned adventurers were prone to all sorts of foul demeanors. Thalia was beginning to understand why.

“Yes,” she said, somewhat gratefully, “yes, I am, and this is Imoen.”

“Perfect!” he said. “We will go inside in just a moment. I have something for you first.”

He picked a small twig from behind his ear and dropped it in front of him. 

“Wha—?”

“ _ Barastamonious _ .”

Before it hit the ground, he tapped the air with three fingers and snapped. The twig pulverised in mid-air. A shock-wave and cloud of dust threw Imoen and Thalia off the staircase, spinning down to meet the ground. Imoen flew in an animal pen and skidded through the mud but Thalia wasn’t so lucky and instead hurtled side-first into the wall of a nearby longhouse, knocking the wind out of her and bringing about a sickening crack from her ribs. 

Dazed, confused, and clutching her side, she tried to stand but the blinding pain bound her to the ground. She inched away from the wall and took several shallow breaths. She was only just aware enough to notice that the man’s larger arm gestures and the lights orbiting him indicated a much more powerful spell than this parlour trick, and she groaned in pitiful desperation.

Soldiers yelled to each other and him but he didn’t stop. They started to run towards him but he had completed his spell. He threw out an orb that flashed white and all who were struck by the light ran away, screaming in horror and consumed by the magical fear. 

Satisfied that the nearest guards were dealt with, he set about preparing a second spell, looking at the place where Thalia had fallen with a smug grin. More lights, chanting, and several bits were taken from his belt. Thalia tried to crawl around the corner but couldn’t even do that. She groaned with exertion but the shooting pain pinned her to the ground.

Suddenly, a sphere of pink light shot him straight in the chest, disrupting his concentration. The spell he was preparing was interrupted, the components scattering harmlessly on the ground. Cursing, he sought the origin of the pink spell. Thalia smiled and let her head fall back onto the cold, muddy grass. Imoen had brought her stolen Wand of Magic Missiles and had somehow avoided the fear spell.

The mage hunted for more components. The first arrow flew past his head to lodge itself in the door. The next arrow hit its target, jutting out of his thigh, and his leg collapsed upon itself with a yell of pain. The guards started to resist the fear spell and swiftly sought their own justice for disturbing the peace of the Arm. Thalia saw four or five surround him and decided to look away.

She had seen enough today.

“Lia! Lia! Thalia!” a small shrill voice sounded in her ear.

“I’m not dead,” she said, cracking an eyelid to see the pink and brown form that was a very muddy, very concerned Imoen. “I just... can’t move.”

“Don’t go anywhere, I’ll go find a healer!” She stood up and ran off.

“Do you  _ ever _ listen to anything I say?” muttered Thalia, irked. She tried to take a deep breath but felt the onset of a cough and, instinctively knowing the sharp, severe pain it would bring, she kept to shallow breaths. 

“Are you sure you can heal her?”

“Relax, child, I am not a novice in my craft.”

Although the first voice was Imoen, the second one was richer and sharper, a deep female voice with a thick, creamy accent covering her words that was distinctively elven.

Thalia opened her eyes again and smiled painfully at the newcomer. “Hello.”

“Greetings,” said the woman. She was a copper-skinned elven woman. A ruddy sunburn highlighted her hawk-like features as she suppressed an amused smile.

She put her long fingers on Thalia’s ribcage and spoke a few words in a blunt, choppy language. A bright golden light swelled in her chest and she felt her wound — bone, blood, and flesh — knit together under the spell.

“Thank—you,” she stuttered as she sat up and took a few deep breaths to test her ribs.

The woman stood gracefully and gave Thalia a hand. The half-elven woman (for she was too tall and broad to be a full elf) looked dressed for battle. Her quilted and padded leather armor gleamed with rivets of magical metals. Her coarse blondish hair was bound into a long plait. “It was no problem,” the stranger said. She leaned on a quarterstaff far taller than her, warbled by nature and bit by swords over the years. “What brought about the wrath of this wizard?”

Thalia gave the woman a forced smile. “Thank you again for healing me. I could pay for the service—” the woman scoffed and shook her head “—then, thank you for saving me the coin. Truly, though,” she said pointedly, “these problems are none that can be solved by a drink in a tavern.”

“I understand, sometimes it is difficult to trust strangers when you have traveled so far, with so much between you and home,” the woman said with grave empathy. “I apologise and hope for you and yours only the best.” She gave Thalia her hand again, to shake. “Jaheira of the Harpers.”

Thalia felt her smile turn grim. Now, she spotted the pin on Jaheira’s lapel. Gold, a crescent moon embracing a harp. “Thalia, Ward of… of Gorion.”

Jaheira’s face lit up but then her mind added the facts together, as well as the rather Gorion-shaped hole in the company she was expecting from Candlekeep. 

“I… see,” she said, the weight of her sudden grief heavy on the words. “I imagine you would not have arrived without him unless something dire had happened, but, first things first. Drinks, food, and I’ll buy you both a bath. My husband must be involved in these conversations, as well. He is—was a dear friend of Gorion’s as well. There is much of him in you, in your manners,” she added warmly. The complement bit Thalia like acid, but she still followed Jaheira into the Friendly Arm.

For such a large and popular inn, the Friendly Arm was unusually neat and orderly. True, the only inn Thalia had seen before was Winthrop’s, but in the songs there were always fights at inns, and immodest performers, not to mention mysterious and sinister strangers lurking in the corners offering to play cards for dragon eggs. She was rather disappointed and a glance at Imoen told her she felt the same.

Little round tables and chairs packed the large room and while there were plenty of patrons and dancers, they all seemed to have good manners and used what the monks would have called their “indoor voices” as they diced and gambled away. A threesome of bards fiddled, sang, and fluted in front of a fireplace large enough to roast an ox. 

A half-elven man, evidently Khalid, jumped up when Jaheira entered the inn. He had a similar russet skin colour as his wife and hair to match. His heavy-set splint mail and the pair of bastard swords on his belt clanged noisily as he stood, nearly knocking over the table. 

Jaheira wrangled two other chairs from another group and sat next to her husband. Khalid took Thalia’s hands in his and kissed her cheek, greeting Imoen the same as introductions were made. His humble, plain face was laced with worry. 

“I-I-I was so c-concerned when this young lady c-comes and says someone’s b-b-been attacked and they need a healer,” he said, looking between them.

“I’m fine now,” said Thalia with an awkward smile. “Thanks to your wife.”

Khalid sat back down, relief washing over his face. 

At a sign from Jaheira, one of the barmaids came around with a pair of bowls, dropping them in front of Thalia and Imoen before hurrying off. The shallow wooden bowls were filled with a greyish stew that didn’t look wholly edible to Thalia’s eye. She gave the chunks of what might have been clams an investigatory poke.

The half-elven couple told them their half of the tale. How they had received a mysterious message from Gorion a tenday prior to come to the Friendly Arm and he would meet them there post-haste, only for them to be sleeping in shifts fully armed so as not to miss him and for him to, evidently, never appear. Thalia found her throat thicken and her appetite left her.

“If… if he has passed, we share your loss,” said Khalid gravely. He had the same somber note many elven voices have, but with a sincerity that many lack.

“Gorion often said that he worried for your safety, even at the expense of his own,” said Jaheira in a soft voice. “He wished for Khalid and I to become your guardians, should anything have ever happened to him. However, you are not a child and the choice of companions should be your own. We don’t want to impose.”

Thalia prodded her stew, her teeth set. She could feel everyone’s eyes on her, waiting for a response. She rather resented the idea of having a set of pseudo-parents, but could still hear her father’s advice to trust them. She felt his eye on her from the Grey Marches, waiting for the answer he expected. Without meeting Jaheira’s even stare, she nodded shortly. 

“Excellent,” said Jaheira, fast becoming all business. “We should first go to Nashkel. As Harpers, we have been dispatched to see to the goings-on at the Nashkel Mines. No doubt you have heard of the iron shortage? Khalid and I have a meeting with the mayor soon, a Berrun Ghastkill, and you two could help us clear out whatever vagabonds have holed up in there.”

Imoen dropped her spoon with a clatter, her eyes round in excitement. “Isn’t this great, Thalia?” she gushed. “We made it through the woods full of wolves and bears and now we’re meeting  _ real _ adventurers. Things are looking up already!”

Thalia felt the threat of a smile inside. “We’ll come, Jaheira,” she said wearily. “Let us have a rest here and we can leave in the morning.”

Jaheira nodded her appreciation and approval before leaving with Khalid to speak with the landlord about the night’s arrangements.

Thalia yawned so deeply she felt the hinges on her jaw creak. “What’re you doing, Imoen?”

Imoen looked up from the thick, much-abused book she leafed through. Sigils were carved into the leather of the cover and pages fell out with every turn. 

“Tarnesh’s spellbook is pretty neat,” she admitted. “I might be able to do some of these simpler ones. Hey, you think I can turn this water into wine?” She started fluttering her fingers and waving her hands over her cup.

“Who’s—While I was out there with broken ribs, you picked this off that madman’s corpse?” asked Thalia. She wasn’t even surprised.

“Manos! Potentis! PAH!” Imoen chanted. The cup began to smoke ominously. “Damous! Fellion! VAR!” The smoke flowed thick and fast now, drawing the attention of some nearby patrons. “Manos!—” A fiery spark leapt from the cup, one after another jumping onto the table.

“Hold on, Imoen,” snapped Thalia, reaching for the spellbook. “Don’t fool around with things like that. You’re going to blow up the inn!”

Imoen smiled sweetly and stopped chanting, taking it out of her reach. “Don’t worry about little old me, I was only kidding.” She used the book to fan out the smoke before turning through its pages. Thalia couldn’t read it upside down but noticed how dense the diagrams and lists of ingredients became. 

“These big ritual things in the back chapters,” Imoen continued, biting her lip, “these look important and complicated. I won’t mess with those. But these lil ones in the front, I’m sure I could study and learn some of them proper.” She flipped back to the earliest pages, which held the simplest cantrips. “Ooh, look!” She pointed excitedly to a fire spell. “When I catch a rabbit, I could even cook it without setting a campfire. How practical would  _ that _ be?”

In the margins, Tarnesh had noted his personal modifications to make the spell more painful and noted how good it was for cauterizing wounds from “subjects”.

Thalia shook her head and grabbed the book again but missed. “No chance,” she said flatly. “Hand it over, now. I’m not going to ask you again.”

“What is all this commotion about?” Jaheira and Khalid came back just in time to see Imoen sit on the spellbook.

“Oh, Jaheira,” said Imoen, looking at Thalia smugly, “you’re a mage, don’t you feel—”

Jaheira threw her head back and laughed. “My dear, no! I’m a druid. All the magical powers I possess come from my lord and benefactor, Silvarus, the elven lord of nature and harmony. But what is this about magic?” asked Jaheira.

Deflated, Imoen said, “I’ve always wanted to learn magic, just a few cantrips or little spells even, but sour puss here thinks I’m going to hurt myself.”

“M-Magic is a very dangerous pursuit,” said Khalid shrewdly. “It requires a lifetime or, in s-some cases, many lifetimes of study and learning to become c-competant in.”

Thalia pulled the book from under Imoen and gave her a hard look.

“Fine, then,” huffed Imoen. “I’ll just take it back when you aren’t looking.”

“Our rooms are ready, if you would like to retire.” Jaheira slid a pair of numbered keys to Thalia and Imoen.

“Sounds like a great idea.” Thalia yawned again. She wasn’t in the mood for dancing, dicing, or drinking or, least of all, discussing her father with these two supposed old friends of his. With her belly full and the promise of a hot bath to wash off the muck she had fallen into during the fight with Tarnesh, exhaustion almost overtook her at the dinner table.

She patted Imoen on the shoulder and wished the half-elves a good night before climbing the narrow staircase to the next floor. The hall was neatly appointed with rugs, polished wooden floors, and glinting candles set into the walls between each door. Finding her own, she stepped in to find a large washtub with bathing amenities steaming on the floor before her bed. She quickly locked the door, stripped, and slid in, relishing in the scalding heat that reddened her skin and moistened her crusted hair. 

Left alone with her thoughts, Thalia’s mind turned back to Candlekeep. She could hardly believe it had been only the night before last that she and Imoen were playing chaltar and drinking with Winthrop and some of the guards in Candlekeep. Hull had won that night, she remembered, and he was none too humble about it. Imoen dumped the bowl of hazelnuts over him when he wouldn’t shut up. 

Thalia took the cloth and washed behind her neck, slipping deeper into the water. No one had seen Gorion for many days and the merriment had stopped abruptly with many a “Good evening, sir” when he made an appearance with a face like death. She remembered him looking directly at her and nodding briefly before addressing the others. Perhaps he had been trying to work up the courage to tell her whatever he needed to say, but had never made it.

She could not tell whether it was the hot steam rolling down her face or tears, but she wiped them away in any case.

She turned over in the washtub, trying to banish the memories, but she still remembered his somber face, his half-parted lips as he was about to speak but decided against it. The heartbroken expression twisted into something more like accusation. Suddenly, she held his head in her hands, cold and dead, the skin becoming waxy and clammy. She couldn’t drop it. He bared rotten teeth and let out a terrible cry of anguish.

_ Why did you leave me behind, Thalia?  _

His face began to decompose in her hands, turning slimy and rotten as the flesh fell through her fingers and all she was left holding was a bloody skull. Somehow, though, the skull that was once Gorion pulled its mouth into a wide grin. It smiled menacingly at her and just kept smiling, whispering at her in a hushed tone that seemed to come from everywhere at once, promising vengeance for the dead, demanding payment of blood for blood.

She screamed. Cold water flowed down her throat.

Thalia jerked awake, spluttering and coughing. Weak dawn sunlight fell through the slit in the wall and she was at a loss as to where she was. She stumbled out of the grimy wash tub and snatched a towel from the floor as she fell onto the bed. Clutching the towel to her chest, she felt her heart race in a sorrowful panic, her skin pimpling in the chill. Bit by bit, the last days fell into place and, with them, came a crushing feeling of hopelessness.

Gorion was dead. As soon as she thought it, it repeated endlessly in her mind. He would never tell her another story. He would never beat her at cards or have tea with her. He would never introduce her to another old friend. And now she was trapped with two of them, strangers by all rights, as kindly as they may seem. Trapped with Imoen, who, despite their similar ages, would look to Thalia for guidance, for protection. Neither of them had ever left the serenity of Candlekeep and now, with the armored figure still out there, the world seemed larger and more threatening than ever.

She sobbed wordlessly into the scratchy pillow until her eyes were bloodshot and her throat ached. Her body trembled as she tried to bury herself in the warmth, to find some corner of her mind or world that could save or protect her. Her knuckles burned as she dug her hands into the bed, her nails digging runs in her palms. 

She dreamed viciously of cleaving the armored figure in two, tearing him asunder, and throwing him from the tallest tower. He would suffer as Gorion had suffered. Not today or tomorrow, but some day he would know her. He would look her in the eyes before he died and remember the night he slayed Gorion. And he would regret it. Her heart grew heavier with such thoughts, but they managed to slow her tears. Brought from the murder-fantasies as the sun crawled across her room, they were perhaps the only thing that gave her strength to stand. 


	5. Chapter 4: The Necromancer of Beregost

By the time Thalia made it downstairs, the sun had fully risen. She had washed most of the excessive grime and dirt from her clothes, but her eyes still showed evidence of her tears. There was no sign of Imoen or the half-elves, but there wasn’t much sign of anyone. Only a few patrons ate their breakfast in peace, travelers and merchants preparing for the road. Most of the others were likely in bed nursing hangovers. The landlord seemed pleased that his tavern had stayed intact, and the tables and chairs were back in an orderly fashion, as clean as could be.

Thalia ordered a few slices of fresh-baked bread with plum preserves and sat in a quiet corner to herself. As she picked at the food, her mind ran in circles about what would happen to her and Imoen now. Truthfully, she expected the pair of them to live at Candlekeep all their lives, perhaps taking over the inn from Winthrop in time, their daydreams of adventuring remaining fantasies and stories. It was as safe and comfortable a life as any could hope for, but it seemed further away than ever right now. 

They had enough gold for now, but that would run out in time and she and Imoen would have to find some sort of work. Imoen would no doubt be able to sustain herself as a pickpocket or minor safe-cracker, but Thalia had no desire to become a lowly bounty hunter or to embrace the reality of life as some great adventurer, sleeping in the open air among hungry beasts and always looking over her shoulder.

“Lia!” shouted Imoen as she walked through the front door. “I didn’t know you had got up already.” She sat herself next to Thalia and opened her bag, taking out the ring she had been playing with the other day as well as the spellbook. “I managed to haggle down the Magister over at the chantry and he was able to tell me what kind of magic this ring is and identify all the spells in the book.” 

Imoen slathered a slice of bread with the preserves and stuffed it in her mouth. She reached for Thalia’s hand and jammed the brass ring over a finger. 

“Has a minor luck charm on it,” said Imoen through a mouthful of food. “Should help some—what happened?” She turned Thalia’s hand over in surprise and felt the long, deep channels Thalia’s nails had dug into her palm.

Thalia wrenched the hand back. “Nightmare,” she answered shortly with as much dignity as she could manage.

Imoen gave her a tight hug and stole another piece of bread. “Sorry I wasn’t there,” she whispered.

Bristling at the pity in the daylight, Thalia coughed and disentangled herself from the hug. “What of this spellbook, is it worth anything?”

Imoen flipped through it again. “To the right buyer, he said, it’s worth loads. Lots of nasty hexes, some are sort of rare, but his component pouch was almost worthless, since most of it was contaminated or smashed when the guards killed him. I sold the last few vials.”

Thalia stood up and took the spellbook from Imoen. “Well, now that we’ve eaten breakfast—or you’ve eaten my breakfast, at least—we can go find Jaheira and Khalid and start heading to Nashkel.”

Only a little disappointed, Imoen said, “They’re out front. Someone had a ring taken by a band of hobgoblins, so they went to kill them to get the ring back.”

“Just for a ring?” said Thalia, incredulous. Despite being as tall as a small child, hobgoblins were cunning and vicious, robbing caravans and generally making the known merchant roads dangerous for all travelers.

Imoen shrugged. “Apparently.”

Once Jaheira and Khalid had returned to the Friendly Arm, the foursome set on their way back south, down the sunbleached merchant road that ran from the southern nation of Amn all the way to the northern capital of Baldur’s Gate. At certain turns or passes in the path, Thalia found herself looking westward and more than once thought she caught a glimpse of Candlekeep. But, with the dense forest of Cloakwood shrouding it, she doubted it.

Few wolves or wild kobolds ventured too close to the path, for fear of being trampled by caravans or made into a cheap meal. Aside from the expected wild beasts, there were also an unseasonable amount of brigands and highwaymen. Rather than gold, they were interested in iron.

“I never would’ve imagined there to be so many bandits on these roads,” said Imoen after meeting their fourth gang.

Thalia looked down at the small gang of tough-looking vagabonds Jaheira and Khalid had swiftly dealt with. There was something deeply unsettling about the unseeing eyes, the shredded guts left for the crows, and the casual way Khalid rifled through the bandits’ pockets. A lump rose in her throat at the thought of some adventurers happening across her father’s body and picking over it. She turned away from the bodies.

“It’s the iron crisis,” replied Jaheira, cleaning the blood from her quarterstaff with a well-used rag. “Nashkel’s mines supply the Sword Coast with iron for weapons and armor, but also tools like ploughs and hammers. Everything that comes out of it these days is tainted. The little that is fit for use makes brittle, inferior gear and has devastated all professions. It is no surprise that unscrupulous men would take advantage of such a situation.”

“But there were none coming from Candlekeep,” said Imoen as she reached down to pick the arrows off the corpse of a fallen bandit archer.

“If there’s ever a b-book shortage, the road to Candlekeep will be the most d-deadly in all the land,” said Khalid as they continued around the next bend.

With Jaheira and Khalid and their experience against highwaymen, they fared well on the dangerous roads, but they were the lucky ones. More than once, Thalia saw the burnt skeleton of a merchant caravan, its guards killed and stripped of every scrap of metal armor and weapons, the crates and sacks empty. 

Jaheira and Khalid had proved to be an invaluable resource, as they had quickly but tactfully scoffed at their somewhat punitive supplies for adventuring and pointed out the little practicalities they lacked, so much so that they had made a list which Imoen had memorised and repeated periodically in anticipation of Beregost’s shops.

Thalia was more concerned with the practical skills she lacked. Watching Khalid effortlessly skin, butcher, and cook a rabbit for dinner when they set camp baffled her. She had a suspicion she and Imoen would be spending more nights in the wilderness than either of them wanted. Jaheira, with the occasional interjection from Khalid, was thrilled to share her knowledge about plant life in the wild and the traps one could set overnight around the campsite.

“I would say grubs are the easiest available food when provisions run dry,” she said matter-of-factly. Behind her, Imoen caught Thalia’s eye and made a face that very clearly said grubs were never on the menu. “When roasted, they develop a creamy, nutty center,” continued Jaheira. 

Khalid moved to stand close behind her and pointed out a particular silver mockingbird in a tree. “Yes, I saw, dear,” she said. They shared a private smile before Khalid returned to the front and Jaheira looked to Thalia again. “Any last questions about woodland lore?”

“Yeah, I got one,” said Imoen, grinning. “How did you and Khalid meet?”

Jaheira blinked. “How is  _ that _ related to woodland lore?”

“You’re a druid of the forest, he’s a woodsman…” Imoen trailed off and shrugged. “I dunno. I’m curious.”

Khalid chuckled from up ahead.

“Very well,” she sighed. “The Harpers had sent me to be an envoy at the court of Neverwinter, to either convince the queen that her court wizard was a mirrorkin — a monstrous shapeshifter employed by a corrupt lord in her court — or kill him myself. I managed to lure him into a room during one of Neverwinter’s famous balls and gutted the man before he suspected me. As I was leaving, I waited to bid farewell to the royal family, when I saw Khalid. He was a common sellsword at the time, in service to the Earl of Denerim, but his patron had left him awkwardly standing all by his lonesome. Pitying him, I struck up a conversation and found him remarkably charming. We became involved shortly after and I introduced him to the Harpers.”

“Huh,” said Imoen, chewing her thoughts for a moment. “Khalid told me the same story last night, but he said that it was  _ you _ standing all alone.”

Jaheira raised her eyebrows and voice, amused. “Oh, that’s an… interesting piece of lore.”

Khalid’s cough stuttered and the tips of his pointed ears reddened. “D-D-Did you know elvesear root can b-be steeped into a tea with mild healing properties?” he said very loudly. “Nobody makes b-b-better elvesear t-tea than J-Jaheira!”

Jaheira smiled fondly and chuckled to herself.

“I think I see Beregost!” shouted Imoen, pointing to the small columns of smoke that rose above the trees.

Slowly, the sprawling town of Beregost came into view. It sat off to the side of Tymora’s way, pushed against a forest and protected by a wall of spikes and a pair of rickety guard towers. From the tops they flew two banners: the white double-headed falcon and blue field of the Sword Coast and, beneath it, the honeybee and green of Beregost. Pollen drifted on the air from the dense flowering fields across the way, which were stacked high with domed apiaries, giving the town its sigil. Within the heavy gates, wooden longhouses with thatched roofs of yellowed hay formed widing, uneven roads. In the center of town towered a layered wooden chantry, the struts of the roofs crossing in a great X. 

A score of guards in heavy plate patrolled the streets. The Flaming Fist looked too out of place, too city for the humble town. And far too numerous.

As though Jaheira had read her thoughts, she said, “Beregost has been garrisoned against Amnish attack. The iron crisis hasn’t touched the mines of Amn on the other side of the Cloudpeaks, or so I hear. The counts have feared this to be a strategic move to weaken the Sword Coast.”

Thalia blanched. A war with Amn? The Sword Coast and their southern neighbour had been on the brink of war for generations, but all knew it to be a futile rivalry. Amn had the military power to crush the Coast in a fortnight. The small measure of peace they ever had was in sharing the rich iron mines of the Cloudpeak Mountains. 

“Well, I’m going shopping,” announced Imoen in all manner of professionalism, waving aside the thoughts of war. “We need blankets, soap, lantern oil, a lantern, rope, flint and steel, a whetstone, tentpegs, a tent, waterskins, and a hunting knife. I need some new clothes, too. My pink tunic got ripped in that last fight.”

“You have fun, then,” said Thalia flatly. She handed their money purse off after taking a handful herself.

Imoen threw her a look as though she were personally offended. “What, you aren’t coming? This is a real proper town, with armorers and tons of adventurers must pass through here, selling their treasure and trinkets…” At the disinterested shrug Thalia gave, Imoen trailed off. “Fine, grinch.” She snatched the money purse gladly and sprinted off through the town to look for a general store.

Jaheira loosened the collar on her armor as she led Thalia and her husband through the familiar town. They stopped in front of a particularly large longhouse with a tankard painted on a sign above it.  _ The New Blessing  _ curled around the tankard in a curly script of vines. Glass windows streamed light onto the streets as the sun set. Inside, a dominating firepit threw tossed flickering shadows over the rough hewn benches and tables, smoke curling through a narrow gap in the roof. Carved wooden pillars held up a loft of guest rooms overlooking the main floor. Racks of jars and bottles filled the walls, patrons in roughthread filling the benches. The inn had a distinct smell of old hay and and stale smoke that made Thalia’s lip curl.

After making arrangements for the night, the three travelers chose a table and a bottle of spiced Everaska red with four mugs. The barkeep scoffed at their choice of drink, but surrendered the dusty elven bottle regardless after pocketing their silver.

One of the patrons jumped up with much hooting and begin to fiddle, a shrill warbling that at least he enjoyed. The three of them found a table far from the firepit and smoke.

“Forgive me for asking, Thalia,” said Jaheira, “but do you know why Gorion wanted to meet us at the Friendly Arm, rather than the gates of Candlekeep? He always was a practical man and to meet a day’s journey away when he believed there to be danger… It’s something that has been bothering me.”

Thalia clasped the handle of her mug so hard she thought it would snap. She looked up from her drink and saw no malice, no smug little joy in Jaheira’s face. Thalia wilted. “He was worried the danger had gotten inside the fortress,” she said, unable to raise her voice above a whisper. “He wasn’t wrong, though. We met it a few hours from Candlekeep, planning to stake us out.”

“I see,” said Jaheira.

The wine dried out Thalia’s mouth, traveling down her throat with a spice that burned her nose. A coil twisted inside her, winding ever tighter as the minutes passed. She spun the ring on her finger, trying to calm herself to no avail. Her heart thumped painfully in her chest and a desperate unnameable fear prickled at her. Her eyes darted across the room, unable to settle on anything. She gulped the strong wine in an effort to dispel the hard lump in her throat. Her breath came shallow and fast. Blood pounded in her ears. 

Thalia suddenly stood up and dropped a few coppers on the table. “If Imoen returns, tell her I—I won’t be gone long,” she said hurriedly, her voice cracking.

“Where are you going?” Khalid called after her.

Thalia ignored him and burst into the cold air. The shock made her dizzy. She rubbed at her eyes but it didn’t leave her. The spikes of the armoured figure, the woman with a mace, the ache in her arms from firing arrows, the roar of the fire. The raised smiling skull on the figure’s armor. She opened her eyes and the wooden town of Beregost greeted her as she panted, bent double, gripping her knees with white knuckles. The image of Gorion’s abandoned brutalised corpse swam before her eyes. Her legs trembled.

The door behind her creaked open and a woman stood beside her, on the short side but powerfully built with a confidence that transcended size. Thalia wiped the tears aside and pulled together what she could.

“It has been a very long time since I was around someone who was dealing with their first death,” said Jaheira in a heavy voice. “All I can say is that you are safe now, nothing will happen to you so long as you are with Khalid and myself, and we shall honour Gorion’s fine memory.”

Slightly embarrassed, Thalia spoke to the hard dirt road. “Thank you.”

“I will not ask about him until you are ready, Thalia. I apologise,” said Jaheira compassionately. She pushed Thalia’s half-empty mug of wine into her hand. 

Thalia shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

“Take care of yourself tonight,” Jaheira ordered, returning to the inn to sit with her husband.

Thalia started to make her way through the long roads, the cold air biting her as it so often did after her nightmares. On a whim, she spotted the towering chantry a few streets over and made her way over to it.

Despite growing up in a monastery devoted to Oghma, Thalia had never been religious. To her, worship was the crotchety old Keeper of Tomes with long confusing sermons on the nature of the unknown. It was a censor heavy with incense and silence, a marble chantry with cramped benches, furniture polish, and the smell of old men and parchment.

When she stepped inside Beregost’s chantry, she could not have been more surprised. The benches seemed just as uncomfortable, but the place teemed with life. Half a hundred candles danced in iron holders and stands. The layered ceiling rose nearly thirty feet up, balconies looking down. Fresh flowers, laid as offerings or in arranged bouquets, brought a whiff of Chauntea’s coming spring. Braziers of rare iron held glowing coals against the back wall, eight of them. On the floor, eight offering plates, intricate and wood-carved.

On the altar before the benches, an illuminated book sat open to a choice page, showing the Morninglord Lathander in all the glory of the sun defeating the minions of Cyric, the Prince of Lies. Thalia had seen many such books before in Candlekeep, but something about the quiet strength rendered in his face put her at ease. While she knew the names and faces of the Eight of the human Chantry, Oghma was the only one she was so intimately familiar with.

Her boots echoed against the weathered oak floor. As night settled over Beregost, the chantry saw few visitors. Those it did kept to themselves. A young priestess reordered a bouquet and smiled at Thalia in a greeting she couldn’t return.

Within each of the braziers was a small stone statue. The embers’ glow flickered over the statues, bringing them to life. In the center, Lathander’s sword, point thrust into the hot coals and crossguard an eight-pointed star, and Chauntea’s wheat, bound with a tight cord. Next to Chauntea was Mystra’s, a winding road of treacherous mist, and the Silver and Golden Maidens, Selune and Tymora, a crescent moon on a spire of stars and the merchants’ k ey, the pinch of it a coin.

Thalia’s eyes were drawn to one. She walked past Oghma’s sealed scroll and the Bitch Queen’s tidal waves. At the far west of the line, a skeletal hand rose from the embers of the last brazier, clutching a set of balanced scales. Jergal the Shadow. Lord of the End. It might have been forbidden to utter the Bitch Queen’s true name, lest you wish to bring down her wrath with weather and ruins of the land, but few liked even to call the Shadow by any other name.

Thalia knelt and looked at the spindly skeletal arm. She had no fear of him anymore. She only wanted answers. A tear fell and she wiped it before it hit her armor. She thought of Gorion in the Marshes again. Had Mystra picked him up yet or did he still wait, watching silently? Unable to put her jumbled thoughts into any coherent prayer, Thalia sat back on her haunches and poured the last of her wine on the brazier. It screamed with a bitter, sour smell, swallowing the statue with hot steam.

She hoped some revelation would come to her. Perhaps Gorion’s voice, or a consuming feeling of certainty, that he was alright, or some anonymous presence. But her legs only grew numb and the few visitors the chantry had this night filtered away. The steam left as quickly as it had came. And she was left alone.

One last priestess lingered as she swept the floors behind her. The westerners across the sea had it easier. They had their saishis to tell them the natures of the gods, to discern right from wrong. The sworn of the chantry didn’t know the will of the gods anymore than her and only she could say if Jergal had appreciated the wine or not. Any signs in the steam were for her and her alone.

She didn’t think he liked it much.

When she stood again, her knees cracked. She looked back at the Shadow’s arm and swallowed the bitterness in her nose. As she turned to leave, she flicked a silver into Lathander’s offering plate with a little more of a structured prayer. It settled among the sea of small coppers.

Thalia had stayed in the chantry longer than she had intended. The new moon had already risen high over Beregost and the streets were abandoned. Light and sound leached from taverns, but all she wanted now was a long rest.

She nodded in greeting to an armored dwarf coming down the other side of the road, but he sharply changed direction and came to her as fast as his stubby legs would carry him. Something prickled her.

Waist-high and almost as broad as he was tall, the dwarf drew his weapons as he approached. A tall tower shield and chipped iron shortblade. 

“Yer at the end of your rope, I’d wager,” the dwarf said in a greasy voice. “Not that it’s nuffin personal, but yer time on this here ball of mud is nea’ly over.”

Thalia spun around, but there was no one else on the path. He hadn’t even stopped to take her to some back alley before drawing steel. “Are you sure of this?”

The dwarf shrugged. “A price is a price and a head’s a head, and where’er the two be met, there’s Karlat makin’ his here living.”

“Karlat?” repeated Thalia, dumbfounded. “What kind of name—Ugh!”

The dwarf made a short, sharp jab with his sword. Taken completely off guard, Thalia stumbled backwards to avoid the blade. She struggled to draw her blade and it caught in the sheath.

He attacked again, but already she could see he wasn’t particularly skilled. The sword slid out at last and she fell into a defensive stance to block and counter his next try.

She managed to just barely block him but when she tried to attack in her turn, he only raised his shield. It reached from the bottom of his beady eyes to his ankles. But not his feet. She stabbed. Her blade sunk through the soft leather. The dwarf let loose a high-pitched yowl of pain and he stumbled back.

Distracted, she drove her sword into his neck. He gargled, gasping. His sword clanged on the paving stones. Blood sprayed her face. 

It had taken less than a minute.

She wrenched her sword free before he fell to the ground, dead or near enough. Panting, she belted her first, new blade. Already it had taken two lives. It couldn’t have been a coincidence.

She looked along the deserted streets, but their fight hadn’t attracted anyone. Not even the new orders of Flaming Fists -- who did a wondrous job of keeping the Coast safe, thought Thalia bitterly, as she went over the dwarf’s corpse. She came off him with a few silver, but no bounty notice, no letter. Nothing that connected him to the mage Tarnesh or the assassin in Candlekeep, or even the armored figure.

How did he even know she would be in Beregost? If any had known Gorion’s plans, they would’ve come looking for them in the Friendly Arm. She looked around again, but no one was watching her.

She gave one last lingering look to the dead dwarf before whispering her apologies and running back to the New Blessing, trying to look as innocent as possible. It wasn’t easy, being stained with blood. She found her room and wiped it off her face, unbelting her armor and polishing off what she could before Imoen could see it. Her fingers trembled around the scrap of cloth.

Who would have the coin to get an assassin into Candlekeep and pay its entry fee, but also be careless enough to send two bounty hunters who barely knew which way to hold a blade?  _ And  _ a mage who attacked in the middle of a heavily armed fortress like the Arm? Perhaps they didn’t pay any attention to the individual assassins they sent, because they were everywhere. Perhaps they put stock in quantity, rather than quality. They sat in every shadow, every doorway, and she wouldn’t be able to fend them off forever. One day, no matter how inept or stupid, one would take her off guard. 

She eyed the door again and sat in bed, fully dressed, knees pulled to her chest. She dragged the woollen blanket up to her chin and watched the door, mind spinning. Thalia couldn’t take her eyes off the door, even as her stomach growled and her oil lamp began to flicker. 

When it cast her into total darkness, she only prayed sleep might take mercy on her. 

**)*(**

Before she even opened her eyes, she knew she was dreaming. She could smell fresh baked bread and musty paper. But not just any bread, Winthrop’s bread, caraway and raisins. And not just any paper, but the powerful odor of tens of thousands of ancient books that could be smelled from any corner of the fortress. She was back in Candlekeep. Thalia opened her eyes and her familiar bedroom appeared to her, a half-burned candle stuck to a table beside her bed. Smoke rose from it in spindly columns and whisps.

A warmth and smile spread in her heart but the vision changed and shifted, fading from view, and she was standing outside the gates of the fortress. From the woods outside, she could still see the candle flame flicker in her window and a panic rose in her. She desperately grabbed the bars of the gate and pulled with all her might, but each time she failed to gain entry her panic worsened. 

At last, the tall walls of the fortress bricked themselves together, blocking any hope of getting back. She slid against the wall, tears tracing hot tracks down her face. Her nails scratched against the rough brick.

A familiar voice startled her. “You cannot go back that way, child. You must go on.”

Behind her stood Gorion, but not the Gorion she knew. This one was a pale shade, transparent and glowing in white and silver. She wiped her eyes and stood, uncertain. The phantom pointed towards the black woods with a smile, as if it were supposed to be inviting.

However, before she finished thinking the words, there was an almighty creak. The trees bent to and fro, contorting to create a great arched tunnel as neat as a master bricklayer. Not a twig or leaf was out of place and yet all the trees hummed with a living light from within, illuminating the foreboding woods.

Even in dreams, she knew this was too easy. She squinted as she looked down the path but all she could see were the lit trees and a darkness from where she could see no more. It was simple, even beautiful in its own way, but although her father pointed towards it, she couldn’t bring herself to trust it.

Gorion went down this path and beckoned for her to follow him. She held back, somehow knowing what would come next. With every step Gorion took down the path, his form became more solid, full of colour, but then other phantoms appeared, the figures as actors in a drama for her alone.

The other phantoms slowly took on shapes that she recognised and she called to Gorion to warn him but no sound left her. A pair of wardogs, a menacing woman with a mace, and a hulk of a man in spiked armour advanced upon Gorion and the scene played out. 

Although a formidable mage in his youth, Gorion was no match for the warriors and he was all but helpless before the onslaught. Each dog latched onto an arm with its powerful maw. The woman put all her weight behind an underhand blow that connected with his jaw. The sickening crack of shattered bone. The man casually unsheathed his monstrous glowing sword, splitting Gorion open. Blood soaked the earth. Thalia screamed, but it only echoed back at her.

Gorion fell, his shadow disappearing before it hit the ground. The other phantoms continued on.

Terrified, Thalia ran down the path to his aid, but it was clear nothing could be done. The ground where he died was warm, wet with his blood. The figures further down, however, began once again. Gorion had reappeared a hundred yards down the path. Thalia continued to run but never caught him, never could say goodbye or help. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she watched Gorion fall yet again, his blood shining in the peaceful light. Her grief slowly spun into anger and vengeance as she ran, not to catch Gorion but his killers. With murder in her heart, she sprinted but the figures always were a distance away.

Then, the figures had reached the end of the path. A portal of blinding light, which they stepped into and vanished without a trace. Though it swirled with golden light, there was a menace in it that scared her far more than the drive of vengeance. Shapes twirled through the light, just out of reach. Once, Thalia saw the vague outline of a skull.

The hairs on her back prickling, she turned her back on it and went back down the path as fast as she could.

She felt a presence move with her, turning in her shadows, urging her back to the phantom figures, but she ignored the urgings and tried to calm her heart. By the time she had returned to Candlekeep, she heard a measured sinister voice, dripping with malice and threat, a distant whisper in her ear with each step. She recognized the voice yet had never heard it.

She opened her eyes and the ceiling of an unfamiliar room swam into view. Still, she heard the voice clear as bells, as though he lived in the walls.

_ You will learn. _

Her hands knotted into the woollen blanket and she rolled over. A hot wetness behind her eyes threatened to overtake her, but she thought again of Gorion watching her from the Grey Marshes, drinking the wine she had given. She found the strength to rise.

Downstairs, Imoen and the Harpers ate their breakfast, chatting about their past adventures. Thalia ordered a plate of the same and joined them quietly. It smelled lovely but all she could do was pick at it. Salty fried perch, stewed apples heavy with cream, and a thick slice of bread. Raisons sat in the crumbs and she could all but smell caraway.

It took several tries before Jaheira managed to pull her attention.

Thalia looked up and flushed when she realised they all stared at her. “I didn’t hear, sorry,” she said.

“Oh, hurry up and eat, would you,” said Imoen good-naturedly. She piled the apples high on the last of her bread and shoved it at Thalia’s mouth.

Irritated, she chewed and swallowed without tasting it.

“As I said before,” Jaheira continued, “Khalid and I would like to stop by the chantry before continuing south.”

Thalia forced herself to eat, though continued to tune them out. Eventually, the others stood, their plates empty and traced a path to the towering chantry. Thalia saw the road she had taken last night and her stomach hardened as she spotted the dried blood on the stones.

The chantry was just as beautiful as Thalia thought it would be in the daylight. The stained glass let in jewel-toned light, giving the feeling of being in a large prism. The priests had refreshed the wilting flowers and collected the offerings from the previous day, leaving the alcoves spotless.

Imoen pulled a battered tome from her pack and licked her lips, her eyes flicking through the priests before deciding on a novice in sun-coloured robes. Thalia snorted at the idea of Imoen trying to flog the evil wizard’s spellbook to the Dawnbringer of Lothander.

But Jaheira and Khalid hadn’t come for religious purposes. Khalid had already shaken hands with the chantry’s Dawnbringer and was deep in conversation about the iron mines, who the Dawnbringer was only too pleased to blame on the Amnish.

“These decadent southerners have never had a care for us,” said the Dawnbringer, his wrinkled face twisting with distaste. “Tempus will send us some brave warriors to cleanse the lands of the heathens, mark my words.”

“B-But haven’t several p-parties already entered the mines?” asked Khalid.

The Dawnbringer nodded grudgingly. “Aye,” he said. “A few, but naught has come of it. The Amnish are too devious by far to leave behind any evidence.”

Thalia had an unfortunate feeling his opinions were common among Beregost and the farming towns to the east, probably all the way up to Baldur’s Gate as well. 

A powerful guard in polished plate armor crossed his arms in defence. He blinked at the sunlight, more than half-hungover and in no state to argue with Jaheira.

“But, Captain Braig,” she scoffed, “bandits have been absolutely infesting the countryside.” She squared herself against the broader guard. “The Flaming Fist simply do not have the men at this point to protect commonfolk. Even Baldur’s Gate has closed their doors in fear of the bandits!”

“Eh,” the captain of the guard shrugged awkwardly. “Bandits do as bandits do, don’t they? There’s a few more than normal but nothing we can’t take care of. In fact, I’m gonna lead a few of our new recruits to take care of these ones in the hills…”

Imoen returned, a glum expression on her face.

“No takers?” said Thalia lightly, but it only earned her a shove.

“Guess we’ll just have to keep it,” said Imoen with a broad grin.

“Not damned likely,” she said.

The Dawnbringer turned from Khalid and raised his eyebrows at her in a way that made Thalia feel about three years old. How come all old holy men mastered the look?

“Sorry, Father,” she muttered.

He nodded, tight-lipped. “I was merely telling your companion about our troubles with Bassilus, a traveling wizard who lived here briefly. He has since made a home of our crypts and it is by the Morninglord we must drive him out. If you were to dispose of him and bring back his holy symbol of the Prince of Lies, you would be owned the bounty of 5000 gold coins.”

“Th-Thank you, Kelddath,” said Khalid, shaking his hand in both of his own. “We will return with this Cyricist’s amulet shortly.”

Jaheira led them out of the temple and back into the sunlight. “I suppose we can take a slight detour,” she mused, “the mayor of Nashkel isn’t expecting us for a tenday.”

Khalid smiled before turning on the spot and looking towards the west. “K-Kelddath said Bassilus holed himself up in an old crypt. It’s about a half d-day’s journey there and back, but it’s a little off the b-beaten trail.”

“Sounds alright,” said Imoen cheerily. “Five thousand coins sounds very alright to me.”

They returned to the inn to don their armor and suit for what would likely be an ugly battle. While Thalia knew little of Cyric, the wild tales of his followers painted a bleak picture of Bassilus. Necromancers, madmen, evil warlords of distant lands, and the Zhentarim, an order of merciless kingmakers who lay with devils to broker deals with aspiring tyrants.

As they left the town, Jaheira eagerly led the troupe down a route that could hardly be considered a path. It wove through the woods and into the thicker parts of the bush, where the wildflowers grew in tall fields and the grass smelled like hay and scratched like broken glass. While most wild animals were happy to let the group through their domain, packs of tricky kobolds dashed through the undergrowth in attempts to steal from them.

When the sun found its high position in the sky, they found a small clearing to rest in and Khalid passed along rations somewhat more to Imoen’s taste than Gorion’s. Strips of salt cod and dense bread flavoured with honey. As they settled in, Jaheira reached out to a nearby blossoming tree and touched a petal. It glowed a green as she spoke to it in a coarse language. The petals turned inwards as the bulb grew swollen, ripening from green to red. A few minutes later, the apple fell from its stem, into her waiting hand. 

Jaheira repeated the spell several times before returning to the others with an armful of tart red apples to accompany the iron rations.

Imoen examined hers, awestruck. “You gotta teach me that one,” she said seriously. “I mean, how am I gonna hurt myself with a spell that grows  _ plants _ ?”

Jaheira smiled humorlessly. “Certainly,” she said. “As soon as you join the sacred druidic order of the Wealdath, I will personally sponsor you and become your teacher.”

Thalia turned the sun-warmed apple over in her hands, lost in thought as Imoen tried to convince Jaheira that a spell or two wouldn’t destroy the order’s secrets. She looked back over the path they had come down, biting her lip. Beregost was just barely visible in the distance, teeming with life. 

Jaheira shook her from her thoughts none too gently. Thalia blinked at her, having not heard. “Come,” she repeated louder. “There are some animal tracks a bit further ahead that would make an ideal lesson for tracking game.”

Thalia tossed the apple to Imoen, who crunched into it, and followed Jaheira a little way outside the campsite, out of human earshot. Thalia soon noticed there were no animal tracks in the dirt.

“Subtle,” she said dryly, keeping her eyes to the ground.

Jaheira bristled at the comment but waved it aside. “I don’t mean to pry,” she said, “but I have noticed you have been very quiet this morning, even with Imoen. If I can help, I would like to.”

Thalia kicked at the dirt and continued to chew on her meandering thoughts. “Did Gorion have a lot of enemies?” she asked at last.

Unsurprised by the question, Jaheira shrugged. “In this line of work, all will gather enemies, but not many to seek vengeance so many years into retirement.”

“You must have some idea,” she insisted. “Someone with means and a grudge.” At Jaheira’s confused expression, Thalia explained the assassin who had entered Candlekeep with a tome of immense value, the wizard at the Friendly Arm, and the dwarven bounty hunter in Beregost.

Jaheira thought it over, but the confusion didn’t leave her face. “As Harpers, we have often worked against Zhentil Keep and the Church of Cyric, but Gorion left the Harpers before Cyric’s ascension to godhood and the Zhents aren’t renowned for their long memories.” She put a hand on Thalia’s shoulder, fixing her with a hard look. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help. Once the Sword Coast is safe again, we will put the Harpers’ networks to use. No matter who it is, we’ll find him.”

Thalia swallowed and felt a weight leave her shoulders. “Thank you,” she said. 

Jaheira smiled. “Believe me when I say that the Harpers would never let a murder of their own go unanswered.”

When Thalia nodded, Jaheira’s smile softened and she led them back to the clearing where Khalid and Imoen ate lunch. Returning with somewhat more of an appetite, Thalia ate what was left of her share and they soon found themselves back on the move, following Jaheira’s navigation.

The sun was low in the sky when they first heard blood curdling shrieks off in the distance.

“Did you hear that?” Imoen asked.

“J-Just the wind,” said Khalid, unconcerned. “It’s like to make all s-sorts of sounds in the wild.”

But the sounds continued and, as they made their way through the woods, it became clearer that the sounds belonged to a screaming woman, pleading desperately.

“It could be a mimic setting a trap,” said Jaheira with a dismissive wave of her hand. “This far off the trail there are many creatures who like to lure lost travelers to their demise — ghouls, mimics, shapeshifters, will o’ the wisps. The trick—”

Then the voice sounded closer than ever, a shrill scream from just over the nearby trees. “Please, help me!”

Instead of finishing her sentence, Jaheira lifted her quarterstaff and the others followed suit, scanning the quickly darkening forest, its shadows long and dim. Every rustle from a squirrel sounded like a trampling ghoul about to break through the foliage and devour them and every whistle of wind was the silencing slice of a blade upon the woman’s neck. But still, she continued to shriek and beg, closely followed by the grunts of a man who hunted her.

The hairs on the back of Thalia’s neck stood. She was absolutely certain they were being watched from behind. She spun around and stared hard into the trees. There was only a rabbit, hopping away into the dark. But it did nothing to ease her paranoia. 

“Lia, look,” whispered Imoen, pointing to a particular break in the trees where the sounds came the clearest.

Thalia turned again, just in time to see a woman stumble through the bushes with a crash of branches. She climbed over the greenery before sprinting towards the waiting party, hands raised in a motion for mercy. It was clear she was an true-blood elf, shorter than Imoen and slightly built. She wore a suit of soft black leather armor over a torn and bloodied blue-grey dress and had a leather sash of fitted ebony daggers across her front, but over her helmet was a black headscarf that blocked most of her face. A loose veil that would cover the rest of it flapped loose as she ran. Gasping, she dropped a hand to her side, but blood pushed its way through her gloved fingers.

Thalia took her by the shoulders to stop her from running into her. “Calm down,” she said automatically. “Who are you?”

“My—name is Viconia,” she heaved. She had a melodic voice just as rich as Jaheira’s but there were darker notes in it. “I’m—I’m not from around here.”

A mercenary in full plate armor and bearing the sigil of the Flaming Fist burst through the trees, easily trashing through what Viconia couldn’t. He raised his sword high, it gleamed with fresh blood. 

“Step aside, travelers,” he bellowed. “I serve the Flaming Fist and the woman you’re harbouring is of the foulest sort, a murderer and an evil dark elf.”

“I’ve done nothing wrong!” Viconia screeched. “He lies!”

“Have you any evidence?” asked Jaheira wisely, passing her quarterstaff from hand to hand.

The mercenary scoffed and spat at the ground. “All the evidence any need is the black of her skin and her soul. Who else would’ve slain the dwarf?”

Thalia’s eyes widened and she did her best to look innocent.

Jaheira nodded, her lip curled in determination. “If you have no proof other than your own prejudice, I’m afraid you will lay neither hand nor irons on her.”

“Don’t be fools,” the mercenary snapped. “I represent the law of the Sword Coast and by protecting her you’ll be just as guilty as she. I will have to sentence you all to death.”

“Guilty of what? Evilness?” demanded Imoen. She raised her bow and shot off an arrow that sunk into the mercenary’s arm but did nothing to deter his path as he ran forwards.

Khalid charged and deflected the first blow. Once Jaheira moved in with her staff, even a skilled mercenary had no hope against them both and he quickly fell in a pool of his own blood.

“I—I thank you,” said Viconia with some difficulty. She put one hand against a tree to balance herself, the other against her wound. A brief glow of humming white light and her wound began to knit itself together. “Many are not willing to give drow a chance, but you have me in a life’s debt, which I will readily repay with my service.” She lowered her scarf and removed her close-fitting helmet. Even in the shadow of the tree, it was clear her skin was not the red-brown of most elves, but the colour of obsidian and her hair was stark white. Her features were pointed, like all elves, but there was a sense of hardened nobility rather than serenity. “May I join with you?” she asked. 

Her proposal was met with stony silence. 

The mercenary’s prejudice against drow wasn’t particularly uncommon or unfounded. Drow had forsaken the elven gods eons ago during a bitter war when the other breeds of elves drove them underground. Instead, they turned to the spider goddess Lolth, who taught their race to live in constant conflict and love of slaughter in her name. They held a fierce hatred of surface-dwellers, weakness, and all other elves, who they blamed for their isolation. While other races of elves maintained cities and townships of their own pure blood above ground, surface drow were so uncommon that most people, even Gorion and other seasoned adventurers, had never seen one and remained wary of any who claimed to leave their cruel people behind.

Jaheira coughed and stamped her staff. “Whatever the answer might be,” she said, “best we dispose of the corpse, lest we earn ourselves trouble with the Fist.” She knelt down and begin to rummage through his pockets. 

Viconia looked down her nose at Jaheira, which was quite a feat as Jaheira had several inches of height on her. She addressed Thalia, “Your underlings lack… respect for you, rivvin, to speak such out of turn.”

Thalia frowned and looked at Viconia, bewildered, but the strange elf held her gaze with vague distaste. 

“It might not be so wise to let her wander around, though, if only for her own safety,” Jaheira added, as though she didn’t hear Viconia. “And we shall see if helping her was right, after all. If she proves us wrong, well, then, I truly pity her.” The coldness in her last words didn’t even faze the dark elf.

“Save your pity for our foes,” she spat. “I do not worship the Mistress of Spiders you surface-dwellers so fear. My heart belongs to Shar, an independent goddess of night, and she grants me my powers as a cleric. My skill as an assassin, however, is entirely of my own making.”

The elven women glared at each other with nothing less than unveiled distrust and disdain.

“S-Shall we continue?” offered Khalid meekly. “B-Bassilus is not getting any closer.”

Viconia replaced her head coverings and followed close behind everyone else as they made another hour of progress before deciding to settle for camp.

Although she was bursting with questions and a rather sizable amount of fear, Thalia didn’t get to speak to their new companion until later that night. In an expected, quiet way, the others shunned her, tolerating her presence but little else. Jaheira did not pass her any of their kill and Khalid ensured there was no place for her to sit at the fire. Imoen spent the night stealing glances at the elf, watching her with a mixture of fascination and terror. Vicona bore the exclusion with her head held high. She sat just out of the distance of the fire’s light, in the shadow of a tree.

While Imoen was speaking with Jaheira about druid magic and Khalid took quiet pleasure in maintaining their weapons and armor, Thalia took the opportunity to bring dinner to Viconia.

“Despite the impression you might get,” said Thalia, handing Viconia a plate of bread and roast pheasant and a mug of water, “you aren’t a captive.”

After giving it an unfortunate look, Viconia took the food wordlessly and undid her scarf. Taking it as an invitation, if a somewhat unsettling one, Thalia sat opposite her and took in Viconia’s alien features and deep grey skin.

“Stop staring, rivven,” she commanded and Thalia averted her eyes. “Though I should commend you on your… tolerance. If you ever wish to witness a traditional surfacer witch hunt, just let me know and I will lay down my scarf in a township.” She smiled humorlessly and played with the food for some minutes before setting the almost untouched plate aside.

Viconia parted her lips and then closed them again, deciding against whatever she was about to say before sighing. “I suppose I’ve never offered you a proper thanks,” she said at last in an uncertain voice, “for having rescued me and taken me in as you have. I have been very… thoughtless in that regard.” She lifted her mug in toast. “Bel’la dos, ussta abbil.”

Thalia smiled at the harsh, unfamiliar drow language and hoped it was something complimentary. “You’re welcome, Viconia.”

Viconia seemed taken aback. “Welcome?” she echoed. “I am… welcome.” She returned a small smile. “It has a pleasing ring to it, Thalia.” She raised her mug in toast again. “Though I walk now part from House and Queen, my pairing with kin and kine may yet keep me from a grave.”

Thalia patted her on the shoulder before returning to the tent she shared with Imoen. “Get some rest, Viconia,” she said. “Tomorrow we kill a necromancer.”

**)*(**

Waking early, the group started moving before the sun was even fully risen. The woods were more difficult to navigate without full light but that was soon no issue, as the trees thinned out and the ground became rockier. Mounds and cliff sides of beige stone began to appear as they ventured closer towards the coastline and even this far from cities and roads, the ground hardened and soon became free of the thick carpet of the forest.

Before they exited the forest completely, Viconia coughed and made a noise of disgust. “Even if you had not told me you were hunting a necromancer, the smell of rotten flesh is undeniable,” she said, wrinkling her nose. Not long after, Jaheira and Khalid both caught a whiff of it but it took quite some time before Imoen and Thalia were able to smell the pungent, sweet smell of decomposing bodies. It hung like a cloud, wafting over the rocks.

Suddenly, Viconia stopped and motioned for the others to do so as well. “We’ve gotten close,” she whispered, then she pointed off to her left. “Over this mountain, in a small valley.”

Jaheira grudgingly allowed Viconia to lead, the half-elf disliking the full elf’s more delicate senses. They moved more cautiously and soon, Thalia was able to hear what Viconia had earlier. The sounds of laughter and conversation.

They rounded the corner and saw a slight dip in the terrain, rounding in a small clearing where the entrance to an underground crypt stood like a small simple stone house. In front of the crypt, a dozen stone pillars were arranged in a circle bearing carvings to the gods, and in the center of them all was a campsite. Bassilus sat before the fire, warming his hands, and laughing so hard he almost split a side. He was bald, aside from a thick and tangled beard, and wore the black robes of a worshipper of Cyric. It was quite clear which one Bassilus was, because every other figure in the valley was a skeleton or zombie.

“Oh, brother Thurm, why not grace our ears with a ripping tale of the old days?” said Bassilus in a viciously gleeful voice. He patted the rotting thigh of the nearest zombie who sat next to him. “Heh heh, it’s always a delight!”

“Brother Thurm” was missing his left arm, most of his face, and his right hand. He looked with glassy eyes in the vague direction of Bassilus and said, “Uuuhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

Bassilus shook his head. “Nonsense, don’t hesitate on my account! Some of the others may not have heard them all.”

He appeared oblivious to their arrival, and so they moved further down into the valley.

Brother Thurm raised his only handless arm and pointed to Viconia. “Hnnnng, hnnng, HNNNNG!”

“Seems like death has not dimmed that one’s faculties,” she said.

Bassilus gulped the rest of his wine, having not noticed. “Hold your peace then, though I remember a time back at Zhentil Keep when you would sooner  _ die _ than be quiet. You…” A penny seemed to spin in Bassilus’s damaged mind, but he refused to let it fall, shaking his head of it. “I’ll wait till you feel like telling them yourself, I don’t remember the old days all too well,” he finished.

Khalid scowled and drew his swords. “What is the m-meaning of all this?” he shouted.

Bassilus leapt from his seat, his teeth bared. He hurled his wine glass against a pillar and it shattered. “Who  _ dares _ interrupt while I speak with my family?” he shrieked. “I’ll have your heads if you’re here to harm… Wait.” His incomprehensible rage dimmed and something almost like sense waved behind his eyes. “No, it can’t be! Is that you, father? It could not be otherwise, you’ve not changed a bit in all these years!” A truly joyful smile lit up his face.

Jaheira, Thalia, and Imoen burst out laughing, almost dropping their weapons in surprise, though Bassilus didn’t seem to care. Viconia smirked, prodding Khalid to distract Bassilus as she slipped off to a higher point on the ridge and began to chant and flutter her hands in a ritual motions. Although the unknown magic unnerved her, Thalia had heard of all clerics, due to their relationship with their powerful deity, were able to repel undead through steady prayer but she didn’t fancy Viconia’s chances against all of Bassilus’s family.

Khalid blushed to the roots of his hair and was at a loss for words. He lowered his swords, his muscles tensed. “Um… yes, a-about that. It’s b-b-been a long while. How’re you d-d-doing, my b-boy?”

Bassilus looked at Khalid warmly. “About as well as can be expected in foreign lands, I suppose. It’s been difficult but I’ve gotten most of the family back together,” he said, spreading his arms to motion to the veritable army of undead. “Some did not recognise me at first but I helped them recall.”

Viconia stopped chanting briefly and looked over to the undead, who remained unruffled. She spat out a string of curses in drow before returning to her chants, which took on a sharper pitch as she moved to another verse.

“I haven’t seen you s-s-since, um… Zhentil K-K-Keep, right?” Khalid continued.

Bassilus became mournful. “Oh, yes, though it was frightening for a time, because I thought I was the only one who survived the city’s sacking. I thought I was the only one who… the only one…” The penny finally fell and the rage returned, full of uncertainty. “You lie. You  _ lie!  _  You cannot be my father, he died in Zhentil… he died. No! They lived, all of them! I… ran. They’re… dead, they’re all dead. No, it cannot be. You lie!” he screamed finally. “You will die for slighting my memories!”

Jaheira recovered herself and prepared herself for battle. “Figures such a twisted, vile wretch could be spawned from nowhere else but Zhentil Keep, a mad servant to an equally mad god!” she called to him.

Bassilus snarled, “You will see Lord Cyric’s glory when you rejoin the family, my lost sister.”

Khalid chuckled at that but dodged sharpish to avoid the first arrows fired by the rusty skeletons. The skeletons charged ahead, banging their swords on their shields or brandishing their bows, and Khalid ran to meet them as Imoen scurried back up the cliffside to fire her bow from relative safety. 

The stench of rotting flesh was overpowering and Thalia choked, trying to cough it out, and only barely managed to block the halberd that would’ve killed her. Her shoulder ached as it held back the ceaseless strength of the dead. It took all she had to cleave the magic from the bones that held the skeleton together. As the magic withered, it tumbled into a heap of clattering bones on the ground.

Through the thick crowd of screaming, groaning, and otherwise complaining undead, Thalia struggled to pick out Bassilus at the center of it all. She wondered why he hadn’t cast a spell yet, but then she caught a good look at him. Quilled like a pincushion, each time he began to wave his arms or chant an arrow would whizz past his head or imbed itself in him. His concentration would be ruined and he would give a shrill scream.

The knocking of bones pulled her back. She panicked and dodged, the mace tearing through the air before her. She slammed her shield in the skeleton’s face and wedged her blade in its spine, twisting with all her strength. The bones trembled and crumbled in a heap.

She panted, mind racing. But soon her thoughts withered away and her mind was left empty, focusing with precision on the undead who battled her, her blade and body obeying her in tandem, a thrilling exhileration pushing her onwards.

She turned to face another faceless zombie, but rather than attacking her, the body steamed and smoked in the late sun, wisps of wild white energy swirled out of it. It shuddered before spinning around to thrash wildly against its fellow undead with all the grace of a ragdoll. It knocked one over before hurling itself into one that Khalid struggled against. 

He stared at it for a moment with Thalia. Their eyes locked. They looked up to the ridge. Viconia chanted, eyes shut in concentration, the same wispy white power swirling over her like a cloak. She had done it. Thalia laughed in disbelief and excitement. Moments later, three of the surviving undead were controlled by her, turning the odds back in their favour.

Thalia charged into one skeleton, shield-first, knocking him over entirely and made swift work of his bones, stepping on his head and fragile ribs with all her weight. His reanimation fizzled but his comrades took notice. Thalia almost drowned in the musty stench of death as they assaulted her. 

She kept pace with her four mindless enemies, as she whittled them down. One zombie lost his arm, a skeleton then missed his sword, another found it very difficult to walk after Thalia’s shield bashed through his ribs, leaving them splintered and his spine wiggling loose.

Thalia stabbed a zombie in the heart, her sword sinking through with a stomach-turning ease, but then… it snapped.

In half.

Thalia looked at her end of the sword, which was now a short, jagged dagger, completely dumbfounded. It splintered at the tip and several pieces of metal only just hung on to the hilt. The rest of her blade was still sunk into the zombie, who now got a powerful hit in that threw her off her feet and made her see spots.

Thalia made a hasty retreat, fending off those who came nearest her with shield and boot as she lowered her center of gravity. They circled her. Panic began to set in as her eyes darted through the throng of living death. As they crowded in, she saw her opportunity and dashed through a pair of skeletons.

Then, just as he was preparing to land a final blow on her, they all collapsed and lost their animation.

The battlefield was suddenly very empty. Thalia spun around. Bassilus had fallen, an arrow shot through his left eye and protruded through the back of his skull.

“Well done,” Thalia panted out, wiping sweat from her brow as she wrenched off her helmet.

This had been the first proper battle Thalia had taken part in, as opposed to watching Jaheira and Khalid cut down highwaymen and stepping over the corpses. As she looked at the wretched madman with a melodramatic arrow sticking out of him, his blood watering the ground, the restless dead at peace, a very small part of her dared to say she more than enjoyed it. While the adrenaline of the fight still coursed through her, a giddy sort of excitement bubbled up, bringing a ridiculous laugh from her lips.

Jaheira cleaned her blade on the yellow grass and nodded. “We might consider ourselves lucky. Many necromancers tie their servants to an object, which must be destroyed, rather than themselves.”

“We’re lucky, then,” said Khalid, throwing himself down beside Bassilus’s fire and loosening his armour.

Imoen ran down the hill and almost tumbled into Thalia. “I killed him, I actually killed him.” She stared at the corpse for a moment, torn between excitement and a misplaced feeling of grief.

“It was an excellent shot,” said Viconia casually, wrenching the bloodied arrow from the necromancer. “Even if it may have taken many attempts.”

Imoen seemed taken aback at the honesty of the complement. Thalia wrapped an arm around her and gave a hug. “Let’s take the holy symbol and get back to Beregost?” she said.

Jaheira rifled through Bassilus’s camp, producing a ruined and bloodied spellbook, a handful of gold, and a talisman of Cyric—a jawless white skull on a purple and black starburst. “Indeed. Time to go.”

The trek back to Beregost seemed to take much longer, as the exhaustion from battle slowly set in over the walk. The sun fell from its noontime position and then slowly turned to twilight, dusk, and finally the darkness of night settled in. Muscles ached, eyes dimmed, and all any of them wanted to do was rest, but especially Thalia, who couldn’t stop yawning.

Starlight twinkled further ahead through the leaves. She was just about to ask how much further when the forest thinned and then opened into the field behind Beregost. Orange light flickered in the windows and smoke curled through the sky. There was no finer sight in all the realms.

After parting words and warnings about splitting the bounty evenly, Thalia steered Imoen towards the town and Feldepost’s Inn, while Jaheira, Khalid, and a well-hooded Viconia went to claim the bounty from the chantry. However, the more Thalia thought about it as she crawled into bed that night, with two thousand gold pieces, she and Imoen could go relatively anywhere, simply take the money and leave Khalid and Jaheira. They could buy an estate with servants to maintain both it  _ and _ a farm to the north, which could sustain them the rest of their lives. Perhaps they could move to Baldur’s Gate, donate generously to the arts and magics, become well-respected… 

Before her mind passed the visions of a dozen undead falling at once, a broken man thrown from a rooftop in a storm, the calm face of her father facing the warriors of the armored figure, the panic-stricken dwarf before he was smashed by thirsty farmers, Viconia’s grateful face as the Flaming Fist was slain, the heady victory of a battle won. Then, Thalia knew in a very small, scared part of her that she would go on to the Nashkel Mines, regardless of what waited for her there.


	6. Chapter 5: Magic Writ in Red

Thalia awoke to a metallic jingle. Rolling over, she squinted at the bed on the other side of the room. Imoen sat with a comical amount of glittering gold coins in her lap, spilling onto the bed in hills and valleys. She took up fistfuls, letting the coins fall through her fingers with a rattle and giggle. 

“Morning, sleepyhead,” said Imoen cheerily. “Jaheira and Khalid brought our share of the bounty up here last night — _ two thousand gold pieces _ ! I mean, it’s really heavy, even in the bags they made a few trips. Can’t say the Golden Maiden doesn’t favour us now!”

Thalia’s sluggish mind tried to make sense of what Imoen said. Tymora? Gold? As the events of the last days fell together, a now-familiar heaviness settled in Thalia’s chest and she fell back into bed. Imoen hummed a jaunty tune to herself as she stacked the coins into tall towers. Imoen had always seemed impervious to disaster and setback, whether it was the passing of their shared cat or simply a rainy day, she always bounced back with a way to make things better. She stole the priests’ flowers to hold a funeral for Truffles and found fun ways to pass time indoors. But this should’ve been different, shouldn’t it? Their foster father should’ve been worth more than a  _ cat _ . 

Imoen blushed at Thalia’s silence, taking it for disapproval, and sighed. “Fine, I’ll put it back in the bags,” she grumbled. Scooping up the coins from the bed, she funneled them into several heavy sacks that sat on the floor.

“How are you?” blurted Thalia. “With… With everything that’s happened lately.”

Imoen chewed her lip for several quiet seconds. “I’m great,” she said at last, looking back up with a dazzling smile. “I’m better than great — I’m finally an adventurer, with all the blood and guts and scary monsters and just look at this reward money! Do you wanna see it again?” She opened one of the sacks and there was an almighty crash of coins as they spilled onto her lap.

Despite Imoen’s conviction, something felt off and Thalia fixed her with a hard look she knew too well. 

Imoen groaned. “Don’t tell me you actually want to  _ talk _ .”

“When I have nightmares, you always want to talk,” argued Thalia, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. She already regretted opening this conversation so early.

“About  _ you _ ,” scoffed Imoen, waving her hands. “I’m doing just fine. You get all hush-hush and no one ever knows what’s knocking around in your noggin—”

“I know you miss him,” said Thalia softly. She swallowed a bitter taste down her throat. “I do, too.”

Imoen stopped in her tracks. She folded her hands in her lap and stared at her interlocked fingers. “I don’t wanna talk about him,” she told her fingers. When she looked up, her eyes were wet. “I mean, if it’ll help you, then, of course I’ll talk about him. But I don’t wanna talk about him being gone. Can I talk about how he made me laugh?” she asked hopefully.

Thalia nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“Like, when he transfigured those teacups into mice and they started to run amok in the inn?” said Imoen. Her smile wobbled and became watery. “We spent half the day rounding them up for him. Remember how that old elven couple screamed?”

“ 'I was just trying to teach the children, Madame Ambassador,’ ” repeated Thalia in a low male voice. Her heart ached as she remembered his rushed apologies to the Keeper of Tomes and Winthrop.

Imoen scowled, crossing her arms. “Even after that he wouldn’t teach me the spell.”

“We were six!” laughed Thalia.

“That’s no excuse. Oh, oh!” Imoen rocketed upwards and beamed as another memory came to her. “What about the Midsummer when I got caught picking the visitors’ pockets and, instead of sending me to my room, he gave me a potion of invisibility and I spent the rest of the night sipping on it?”

“Not that it helped much,” said Thalia wryly. She remembered the meager treasures Imoen counted out that night a few years ago.

Imoen put a hand to her chest and gasped. “How dare you!” she cried. “I am the most accomplished pocket-picker in all the realms!”

“Gorion always thought so,” said Thalia with what she hoped was a kind voice. She could feel Imoen’s spirits drop at his name.

Imoen swallowed hard. “He said he knew plenty of rogues and common criminal skills would always come in handy on the road.”

“Somehow, I don’t think Jaheira would feel the same,” said Thalia, rolling her eyes. “Funny to think they used to travel together.”

Imoen shook her head vigorously. “Nuh-uh, I don’t wanna talk about Mr G with Jaheira. No, sir.” She groaned again, falling back into bed with exasperation. She propped herself up on an elbow and furrowed her brow. “It’s not that they aren’t nice and I’m sure they know all about him but… you know?”

Thalia nodded and the worry drained from Imoen’s face to be replaced by a calm smile again.

“Maybe… maybe we can talk about him again some time?” asked Imoen hopefully. “I don’t wanna forget him or nothing.”

“I’d like that,” said Thalia, returning the smile. 

Imoen’s mouth fell open, though the edges twitched upwards. “You’d  _ like it _ if I forgot about him?”

“Oh, shut up,” groaned Thalia. She threw a pillow at Imoen’s outraged face. It hit its target with a very satisfying, soft  _ thump.  _ “You know what I meant.”

The pillow managed to muffle Imoen’s giggles as she held it up as a shield. “Alright, I surrender.”

Thalia crossed the room to sit next to Imoen. “I just want to make sure you’re doing alright,” she said, putting a hand on her sister’s arm.

Imoen’s effervescent smile wavered as she lowered the pillow. “I’m gonna be fine,” she promised. “I just worry about this eating you up. I know how close you two were.”

Thalia pushed a lank strand of hair behind Imoen’s ear and sighed at the earnest expression. “I’m gonna be fine, too,” she said at last. “It’ll just take a little time, Im.”

“That means you’re not fine now?” she asked, narrowing her eyes in a way Thalia didn’t like the look of at all.

“What are you getting at?” she said suspiciously.

Imoen grunted as she pulled one of the sacks of gold back onto the bed. Stroking it like an animal, she said, “Well, since we can’t carry it to Nashkel, why don’t we go treat ourselves in town? I saw some nice things down at the smithy. Besides,” she added in an accusatory tone, “ _ you _ need a new sword.”

Thalia scoffed and looked up, as though a better idea than spending their small and unmovable fortune was written above their heads. Unfortunately, there wasn’t and she gave in, much to Imoen’s glee. 

“Just the one sack,” insisted Thalia as Imoen led them through to Thunderhammer’s Smithy and Supplies. The early dawn bathed the town in a pale light.

“To start with,” finished Imoen, patting the overstuffed bag fondly.

Thalia spotted Thunderhammer’s shop as they turned down the next lane. The gently swinging sign above the door showed a lightning bolt striking a blacksmith’s anvil and hammer. Within, polished bows, gleaming metal weapons, and stacks of ammunition stood on shelves and posts around the well-kept shop. Hoards of apprentices filled the smoke clogged smithy as they meticulously created chainmail from individual chain links, tanned leather on racks, filled orders, and hammered steel flats into swords. 

Thalia debated getting her armor mended but Imoen prodded her to commission a new suit. The tedious measuring of her frame took much of the morning, as did the consultation. 

After a conversation with Thunderhammer about the current state of iron and her old sword, he admitted only magical weapons seemed to be immune from the fragile condition of most iron these days. Thalia threw the shattered hilt and the other spare sword away and began window shopping, settling on a well-balanced longsword with a fancy guard and enchanted with a self-honing edge.

Imoen quickly found a magical dagger she took a fancy to and flipped it deftly from hand to hand as they shopped. When it spun or slashed, the tip left a lingering line of flame that spoke of its greater elemental charge. She also found herself a recurve shortbow that supposedly allowed the wielder to shoot faster and stocked another two quivers that she tucked away in her bag. 

As they haggled over a final price, Thalia winced inside and sent Imoen back to the inn for the rest of their gold. It took a third trip, but once they had surrendered most of their gold they were free to leave.

They returned to the inn for a rather expensive late lunch while the smith and his apprentices worked on assembling Thalia’s armour. By the time their plates were clean, the half-elves and Viconia had joined them. 

Imoen gushed to Khalid and Jaheira about their new purchases, but Viconia shortly interrupted them.

“I’m afraid I must ask a favour,” she said in her soft, commanding voice. “If there is any in this town who must not recognise me, it would be one from your temples. Unfortunately, I would like to spend most of my share of the reward at the nearest alchemist.”

“We can all go in together,” said Jaheira. “I would primarily like to stock up on potions of healing. They don’t come cheap, though the price in smaller towns is fairer.”

The town was far more alive this time in the late afternoon and a number of patrons and worshippers milled around the temple complex. Thalia had little patience for the alchemist’s quarters, a small dark room with a low-hanging, foul-smelling mist. Imoen, though, was taken by the dozens of neat bottles and jars of odd bits of plants and animals. Thalia watched from the outside as Viconia passed along gold and instructions to Jaheira. 

They returned to the inn some time later with many packages wrapped in plain brown paper. Jaheira unwrapped the many potions, fitting them securely in her potion case. Holding the thick glass bottle, Thalia wrinkled her nose at the slimy, milky liquid within.

“We’re supposed to drink this?” she asked.

Jaheira chuckled, taking it back and fastening it in the case. “The idea is that we don’t until we must.”

Viconia drummed her fingers on her mountain of tiny packages. Thalia had watched the priest wrap up the expensive ingredients, thrilled he had found another alchemist. Viconia had only a tiny satchel of personal belongings and somehow Thalia didn’t think it contained all the bulky equipment to distill potions. 

Jaheira and Khalid left to gather dinner from the bar. Jaheira had to ask three times if Thalia wanted anything before she heard.

“I’m alright for now, thanks,” she said absently. She thought about the long, strange list of ingredients. Crushed obsidian, dog hairs, pomegranate oil, purified honey, new wax, rothe wool, dried mushrooms, fire seeds, ebony bark… 

At once, Viconia stood, sweeping the packages into her arms. “As enjoyable as this day was, it is time for me to retire.” She nodded shortly and turned to head back to the rooms upstairs.

“What was all that stuff for?” called Imoen. Thalia almost had to laugh. At least it saved her from having to ask.

Viconia shrugged, looking back at them. “You may feel free to watch,” she said carelessly. “So long as you do not interrupt me.”

Imoen looked to Thalia for permission. Normally, she would refuse, but her curiosity got the better of her. “Alright,” she sighed, and they followed Viconia upstairs to her private room. Viconia directed them to sit on the bed and not touch anything.

Now, safely behind a locked door, she removed her head coverings and began to prepare an elaborate ritual circle. As she placed black candles in a wide circle, they lit themselves with violet faerie fire (a natural fire conjured by dark elves) and she chanted in a low drow. Removing her necklace, she placed it inside the ring—her token of Shar, a black circle outlined in purple. To her side, she opened a small wooden box with a strong latch and magical lock that she waved away. Within, the box was divided into compartments and folding layers like a noblewoman’s jewelry box.  Sitting on one edge of the circle, Viconia glanced at the window. The colours from the low sunset had faded completely and the last dregs of light retreated across the floor.

Although she had never watched this specific ritual performed to Shar, Thalia watched some of the monks perform it to Oghma and Gorion performed it once or twice to the Mistress of Magic, Mystra. Viconia was dedicating her new ingredients to Shar, a goddess of night, to enhance their power in her spellcasting.

Removing a cloth bundle from her bag, Viconia slowly unwrapped it layer by layer. Within, lay a polished silver bowl, only a little larger than a cupped hand, and inscribed with delicate spindly writing. Placing it in the center of the faerie fire circle, she stopped chanting the moment the sun had fully set. 

The silence was deafening, but it only lasted for a few seconds before something—some _ one _ blew their way through the candles, drawing the flames up to a full two feet before settling them. Imoen yelped and clung to Thalia, her eyes wide as saucers. A shiver of fear ran down Thalia’ spine.

Viconia began to unwrap her newly purchased ingredients and placed them into the bowl individually, waiting for Shar to appraise or roast them. An anxious moment passed after Viconia dropped a few tablespoons of vermaelen nuts but they rattled of their own accord and she quickly tilted them into a compartment in her box. With each ingredient, she waited for the inevitable judgement. Almost each time, Shar approved of the devotion and the material rattled. A few times, though, the ingredient spontaneously erupted in purple flames and Viconia scooped out the ashes with an unfortunate look on her face.

At last, each ingredient was sorted into its own container, and Viconia moved on to preparing her own spells, a daily ritual on her part, they soon learned. It involved tracing elaborate ritual circles on the ground with her finger wet with oil while chanting different melodies with a concentrated look on her face, placing single ingredients in the bowl as she focused her magic into them—a hooked claw with a seed, a pinch of sand and spider silk. A sweet odor filled the air and she poured single, paired, or, in some cases, trebled ingredients into tiny glass vials, which she, at last, concealed in the breast pocket of her armour.

Imoen stared at her, torn between admiration and dire jealousy.

The corners of Viconia’s mouth turned themselves into a self-satisfied smirk. “Have you never thought of pursuing a noble craft?”

Imoen threw a cautious look to Thalia before speaking. “I’ve always wanted to practise magic,” she confessed. “But, it’s dangerous…” she trailed off.

“What is a little danger in exchange for the power?” Viconia shook her head, leaning back with a look of confused contempt. “Wizards and clerics are among the highest in station, possessing all things one may want in this world: power in society, power in self, and power in the next life. Little changes when we consider sorcerers in your world, yet few of your kind understand magical trade, those who do are shunned.”

“And what of the danger of things other than a fireball up the nose, things like corruption and consumption?” said Thalia coolly.

Viconia waved away her words as though they were irritating flies. “Apprenticed to an appropriate master, consumption of the soul is rare indeed, while madness is even rarer. Everyone wants it, to a certain degree. Imoen.” Viconia turned to speak to the surprised girl with the smile of the demon. “I’ve a rather substantial knowledge of arcane magic, as well as divine, and, although you would best be apprenticed to a proper wizard, I can most certainly start you on a path—”

Lost for words, Thalia clenched her teeth and stood, towering over the diminutive elf, who only chuckled.

“Deny it, human, if you wish, but you desire power as well. If you hadn’t, you would not have bought yourself a new blade and armor, you would not trained what I expect to have been your entire childhood in the arts of war, and you would not have exposed me to your height,” Viconia finished pointedly, her eyes sweeping Thalia’s much taller form with a raised eyebrow.

“You’re wrong,” she said hotly, a furious blush crawling up her ears. “Imoen will absolutely  _ not  _ be learning any sort—”

Viconia raised an irritated hand, conceding. “I suppose I will never understand surfacers, then,” she said in a tight voice. “Would you kindly leave my chambers.” Thalia hesitated, blinking at the sharp dismissal. “ _ Now _ ,” added Viconia with venom.

Taking one last look at the elf, Thalia stormed out of Viconia’s room, down the stairs, out the front door of Feldepost’s Inn, and onto the rapidly darkening streets of Beregost. The night chill assaulted her as she marched down the quiet roads. 

Who did Viconia think she was, offering to teach Imoen in front of her? Especially after the encounter with that mad necromancer. That truly was all that drow desired, though -- power and murder. Just because Viconia had left their cities, didn’t mean she was now a mystical tree-hugging elf. Even worse, she thought everyone else was like her. Thought Thalia was like her.

They were nothing alike and had nothing in common and that was the end of it. 

Having walked completely around the main street, she ended up back in front of the doors at the inn. She turned from it again to make another lap and fume silently. She heard a voice call for her, the front door open and close.

“A-Are you alright?” Khalid’s face was creased with concern.

“Fine. Absolutely. I just need to take a break.”

Khalid nodded knowingly, stepping off the porch. “Jaheira’s p-preparing her spells right now, too. If you would like, I c-could show you the basics of two-weapon fighting. You showed interest when we d-discussed it.”

Thalia looked back and forth through the empty streets, weary. “Why not? Sure. Alright.”

Khalid smiled broadly. “I’ll b-be back shortly.” He returned a few moments later, carrying his own two bastard swords, Thalia’s new magical longsword, and his own spare shortsword. “Put the shortsword in your off-hand,” he said, as they began walking to the city limits, where they might have a little more open space.

Thalia adjusted her hands, then her stance as Khalid quickly explained how she was to parry with the shortsword and keep it for lethal, close-range attacks, but to primarily slash with her longsword. 

“Using two weapons of similar length makes fighting more fluid and unpredictable for an opponent, b-but is much harder,” he said, motioning to his own pair of identical weapons. “And extremely dangerous around archers,” he added as an afterthought. “You get caught up in your style and then f-forget to keep an eye on bowmen.”

Thalia refused to listen to the ever-patient Khalid and just waited until she could start hitting him. The first echoing clash of swords was music to her ears as he deflected the blow. He deftly drove her onto her heels with the practised skill of a relaxed fighter. She lunged forward with attack after attack, only to see her narrow windows slice shut and be rewarded with another throbbing bruise. She was soon covered in welts and scrapes from the flat of his blade. As he forced her backwards with greater speed, her foot found purchase on a rock. She tripped and splayed out onto the hard ground, only to see Khalid standing above her, weapons sheathed and hand outstretched.

“It is easier to f-force an opponent to create your opportunities than to create th-them yourself,” he said with a humble smile.

Blood pounding in her ears and face, Thalia snarled and scrambled for her weapons but Khalid stepped backward, only to regain his effortless dominance. She pushed harder and found no opportunity against him, even as he understood her purpose and laid himself on the defensive to let her wail on him with the sickening squeal of steel-on-steel. 

With every strike, she felt her mind and world narrow to a single pinpoint, to this exact moment when she acted and reacted to the motions, the steps. She grunted with each blow, pushing herself harder. She lost her mind, her thoughts and memories of the day and the future, and became all body, the physical tension and aches in her muscles, the jolts as her joints absorbed the impact of her blows. Bereft of thought and mind, Thalia found her emotions running over and tried to force it all through her weapons.

The synchrony of her body working with her weapons, the sweat folding into her day clothes, the blood pumping strong in her ears. The new technique made sense to her and, while she didn’t know the precise steps and parries that were possible, her blades found their way through each other and soon it was Khalid who nursed bruises.

They continued until long after her form had suffered and her muscles ached with the effort of lifting a sword. When her body finally betrayed her and she could go no more, Thalia sheathed her blades with a  _ zing _ and scowled at Khalid across their improvised battlefield. He put away his swords.

“Are you going to p-p-punch me, now?” he panted, with only a touch of sarcasm. Sweat thickened his hair and his face was a blotchy red.

Thalia shook her head, her throat choked for words.

When he passed her, Khalid patted her shoulder, wincing with each step. “In t-time, you would make for a t-t-terrible enemy,” he said over his shoulder.

And Thalia was left standing by herself in the empty field, to make what she would of that.

**)*(**

The group left Beregost a few days later, fully restocked, with rations, equipment, armour, weapons, and, of course, all their spells prepared. Although Thalia adored how her new armour fit her, how it moved with her body, she couldn’t help but remember when they had returned to Thunderhammer’s last night.

She had stepped up on a little pedestal as he gave her each piece of her new armour, of which the pauldrons, breastplate and arm-guards were made of overlapping plates of steel and mail, while the collar, boots, and greaves were studded boiled leather. It took the combined efforts of Thunderhammer, herself, and Jaheira almost an hour to wrangle her into the stiff new scale plate and leather, but she was pleased with it on the whole. It was her first set of custom armour, a big step for an intrepid warrior. A feeling of pride swelled in her chest as she took in her sight in Thunderhammer’s mirrors. It was yielding where it needed to be, protective where it should be, and, most importantly, not unforgivably hot or heavy. It also didn’t make her look like a fool, a heady bonus. In fact, she looked to be a competent mercenary, someone with a few bounties under her belt rather than over her head.

The only thing that spoiled the moment was when she caught a certain pair of ice blue eyes looking at her in the mirror, full of self-assured judgement.

Now, walking behind the drow, Thalia was drawn to the pouch on her breast that contained her prepared spell components. If she knew, Viconia let out no sign that she was aware of the persistent eyes on her. 

To their right, the flaked rocky shores of the Sword Coast rose higher and wilder with each passing mile, until they turned into mountains. Cold grey giants capped with snow and shrouded in clouds. The Cloudpeak Mountains. Beyond them, the ever-present threat of Amn.

On these roads, travelers had to be wary of bandits who hovered around the borders of the Country of Commerce. Bandits who were frustrated and furious with the unshakable force that was the Amnish army and prepared to jump wealthy travelers.

And, unfortunately, with shiny new armour and magical weapons, they appeared to be quite wealthy. However, they also appeared threatening and, for the first time, Thalia witnessed a small band of squabbling highwaymen pass them by with no more than a dirty look as they tapped their weapons together menacingly. It was an extraordinary feeling, to be perceived as being dangerous enough that hardened criminals wouldn’t even dare attack.

Others, however, did not feel the same way and several times on this last leg of their journey to Nashkel, the screeching sound of swords clanging sounded between the hills and bleeding bandits were left behind them.

With only a few nicks and bruises to show for their troubles, they arrived at the mining town well after sundown. Built alongside the road that continued to the border crossing, Nashkel was a sleepy town. Only a handful of homes and buildings made of rough grey stone and wood gathered along the road and river, including a humble chantry and town hall, as well as a few low-lying farmhouses that presided over a neatly tended field of green buds. 

As they crossed the bridge into the town, a guard shouted at them from the other side. “What be your business here in Nashkel?”

“Khalid and I have a meeting with the mayor,” Jaheira shouted back, cautiously setting a foot on the bridge before the guard waved her on. “We’ve heard of the troubles and have come to help. Things are not good here, I take it.”

The guard snorted, raising his visor and wiping his brow. “Aye, what  _ is _ good around here anymore? Our iron is rotten, there are talks of demons in the mines, the workers refuse to get back to work, those who do are left as gnawed bones…” He shook his head, his nose wrinkling in distaste. “The mines have been all abandoned, for fear of losing more men.”

Jaheira patted his shoulder in respect as they passed. “Can you take us to the mayor?”

The guard led them through the single-street town until they found Berrun Ghastkill, standing before the temple’s graveyard, his head bowed in respect for the fresh graves.

“Sir, I’ve brought some travelers,” the guard said. “They said they have a meeting with you.”

At this, Berrun turned round and a weary smile wove itself behind his beard. Berrun Ghastkill was all edges and sharp angles with facial hair that could’ve been the home of a small flock of birds. “Jaheira.” He extended his hand in greeting. “I have been expecting you since I reached out to your organization. I’m very sorry we’ve had to meet under such dire circumstances.”

Shaking his hand firmly and returning the somber smile, Jaheira nodded to the guard. “He has explained some of it, but what is of this iron? I’ve heard many whispers: rotten, tainted, cursed?”

“Diseased is more the like.” Berrun shuddered delicately. “When it is mined, it appears fine, but after the metal has been extracted, it corrodes and becomes brittle, with a foul smell around it. I would send the guards after whatever’s down there, but I need them to protect the town from the bandits along the Golden Strait.”

Jaheira shook her head at his concerns. “Let your guards protect your citizens,” she said. “We can handle it from here. Just let us rest the night and we will leave first thing in the morning.”

Berrun followed them to the inn and spoke with the innkeeper for a moment, providing their bed and board free of charge. He explained it was the least he could do before they risked their lives for his town. Viconia scoffed at this, and Berrun took one curious look at the hooded, veiled figure before leaving.

The inn was a small building, with a handful of rooms for visiting merchants that held the barest staples an inn required. It was also eerily quiet, as the workers were all in their homes and, as the iron quickly became worthless, the merchants no longer came to trade.  Two people sat on opposite ends of the room, one was deep in his drinks, snoozing at his table. The other sat alert and awake, clad in heavy armor and her drink untouched.

The dark anticipation of the following morning and its uncertainty hung on Imoen and Thalia far more than it did Khalid or Jaheira, who had completed such missions many times before, or even Viconia, who had braved the horrors of the Underdark to come to the surface. For an uncomfortably long time, the only noise in the inn was the slight clinks, chaffs, and grinding that came as they maintained their weapons with oil and whetstone. 

Unable to eat or drink, Thalia retired early. She admired her armour once more as she stripped it off and crawled into bed. A dead weight sat in her stomach and her mind spun with the horrors of what might be lurking in the tunnels. Truly, it still wasn’t too late. She could take Imoen and leave. They could make their fortune elsewhere. But before her mind could finish the familiar paths, arguments, and counter-arguments, she had already fallen asleep.

**)*(**

The full moon shone as a silver dollar, bathing the lavish bedroom in its soft light. The grand desk and its chairs were carved of ebony wood and wrought iron, stacked high with papers and books. Wind blew through the bottle green drapes, making them dance in the middle of the room. Though everything was neat and every pen had its place, the emerald covers of the four poster bed had been carelessly thrown to the floor, the pillows scattered, and a trail of clothes led from the doorway.

In bed, the lovers laughed breathlessly and detangled from each other, their skin shining with sweat. Another chill swept through the room and the man stood to latch the door to the balcony door shut. He was powerfully built, almost too tall and broad for a human, his well honed muscles casting shadows over his body. His otherwise smooth flesh was marred by a multitude of raised pink scars, but there was a softness to his square face and blue eyes that didn’t match the rest of him.

His mate still lay in bed, reaching across the floor for the discarded covers. With a smile, he darted back to the bed and grabbed her by the hips, pulling her back into an embrace as she squealed.

“Come along, I’m cold!” she laughed.

He nuzzled her neck. “Maybe I can—”

“If you dare say ’warm me’, perhaps I won’t visit your bed for some time,” she said teasingly, winding her fingers in his short dark hair as he kissed her. Akin to her mate, she had the strong build of a warrior but lacked his height. Her narrow, dark eyes and broad features relaxed at his touch.

The man planted one last kiss on the back of her neck before crossing the room to pick the covers off the floor. He fell back into bed with her and she pulled the blankets up to her throat.

“My hero,” she said fondly, laying her head on his chest.

A few peaceful moments passed before the man asked nervously, “You wouldn’t really go, would you?”

She looked up at him with a puzzled expression. “And  _ why _ would I leave such a man to Cythandria?”

Relieved, he smiled and stroked her hair, his hand resting on her smooth back. “Good, I’m glad.” A flash of concern went through him and he backtracked. “I mean, you’re a powerful warrior and magician and clearly a valuable member—”

“Oh, shut up,” she said with a chuckle. “I’ve never hidden my motives for staying.” To emphasise, she stroked his chest and sighed in his arms.

“At least one person in this tower is willing to be honest,” he said bitterly. Then, he winced. “Sorry, not the greatest bedroom talk.”

She smiled to herself. “Indeed. A slug has more charm.”

Deflated, the man nodded and took the insult to heart.

Aghast, the woman sat up and looked down at him. “It was only a joke,” she said, hurt. “I’m sorry. After everything, you really should take more pride in yourself. You truly are a wonderful man.”

The man nodded again but clearly didn’t believe her. “Thanks, Tamoko.”

Her smile turned coy. “It does not befit a man of your station to pine after eastern broads,” she said in an overly haughty voice. 

He laughed, all his moodiness dispelled. It was a deep, rich noise that made her eyes sparkle. “Now you sound like Winski,” he said. 

The humour left his eyes a moment later and he sat up abruptly, his eyes scanning the darkness before resting on the spot where Thalia stood, silent and invisible — or so she had assumed. She held her breath and shivered as his blue eyes pierced through her, sharp but unfocused.

“What’s wrong?” whispered Tamoko. She put a hand on his arm. “Is it him?”

Unsettled, the man lay back down and took her in his arms again. “I don’t know,” he said reluctantly. 

“You really ought send him back where he came from,” said Tamoko, almost as if to herself. “He’s just going to drain you dry and throw you away, just…” She bit her lips as though she could swallow the word back down.

“ ’’Just’?”

“Just like Reiltar.” Tamoko braced herself.

A terrible anger flickered behind the man’s eyes and his whole body tensed, but he breathed slow and deep and it subsided. 

Tamoko stroked him tenderly. “I’m sorry, my love,” she said. “I shouldn’t have brought him up.”

“It’s alright,” the man said in a steely voice that gave all indications he was not alright. “Old wounds will be repaid in time.”

She nodded, but hesitated as she thought of her next words. “There is no doubt Reiltar deserves death — grisly, painful death — but I would caution you against following through with his… plans.”

The man groaned and rolled his eyes. “Not this again,” he said, exasperated. “I will do what I wish. Claiming the throne is my birthright!”

Tamoko threw herself from his arms, glaring down at him. “Cynthandia and Winski and their kind are filling your mind with nonsense,” she said in a hard voice. “And I swear, it is going to destroy you.”

The man’s anger was roused again and he pushed her off him. Standing, his fingers twitched like claws. “Nothing can destroy me!” he swore. 

Tamoko sighed with grief and reached out a hand, but he backed away from her touch. “You’re only a man,” she pleaded. Tears welled in her eyes. Her hands fell useless and limp into her lap. “You can bleed. You can  _ die _ .”

Something like sense wavered in the man’s eyes and he nearly took her hand, before he hardened again. “I am not just a man,” he said. 

“Right now you are, love,” said Tamoko seriously. “That venture to Candlekeep nearly killed us both. Remember, how the healers were so concerned over your burns and—”

“I am the Reaper!” shouted the man hopelessly, pushing Tamoko back down on the bed. His face twisted in a wounded rage, less than an inch from her own. “Death bows before me and murder runs in my veins—”

“That is not you!” Tamoko shouted back, punching him in the chest but it was as successful as punching a brick wall. Undeterred, she continued with a determined calm, “I will not be your consort. I will not watch as you bloody the Sword Coast and drop bodies where you will it. But I will stand at your side in  _ this  _ life. As equals. If you want a woman to worship you, Reaper,” she spat the title as a curse, “go find Cynthandia.”

The man released her and stood again, but his outburst left him vulnerable, uncertain as her wet eyes and words pierced him.

“It’s not too late,” she said in a sensible voice. She rose to her knees and took his hand in both of hers. “We can call this off, hang Winski from the top of the tower by his entrails and leave. You can come back with me, to Kara-Tur. Like we planned.”

“It is already too late,” he said, hollow. “It was too late before we made those plans, before you met me, before I met Winski.” He looked down at their clasped hands. “It was too late when I was born. My destiny was already carved in stone.”

A tear fell and she took a deep breath. “It is only too late when you believe that, my love.” 

She kissed their hands and the man wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair. Tears welled in his own eyes and he breathed in her scent as a long, rattling sob passed through his chest. 

**)*(**

Thalia woke with a start. The sheets stuck to her, clinging with sweat. Her breath came in shallow pants, the air chokingly hot. A familiar skin-crawling feeling of voyeurism disturbed her as she remembered the nakedness of the lovers.  Thalia padded out of her room, rubbing her eyes. It was pitch black outside and she had likely only slept for a few hours, at most. She was just going to sit in the cool air for a little while. Perhaps that would help her clear her head and she could return to a restful sleep.

“I didn’t expect you,” a measured voice came from the shadows.

Blinking against the dim light of the closed bar’s few lit candles, the dark figure of Viconia came into view. She had her hood down, her sleek white hair reaching the middle of her back. Half the tables around her were filled with small bowls, empty glass vials, papers bearing a thick rune script, and floating black candles lit with faerie fire. A small black book was open to a page of complex diagrams and recipes.

“And what were you planning in case the innkeeper came back and saw your mess?” asked Thalia with a sigh, anticipating a grisly answer.

Vicona tapped a piece of parchment on the table with a quill. “I’ve used most of my modify memory charm scrolls, so I’m writing a few new ones. Come, sit. I’ve words to give you.” She beckoned Thalia to take the spot opposite her, which she did, surprised at the relatively peaceful answer. “I fear I have erred, rivven,” she said, avoiding Thalia’s eye. “I have made the mistake of undermining your authority over your blood. If it is your wish for Imoen to not learn arcane magic, it is not my place to encourage otherwise, especially in your presence.”

Taken aback, Thalia swallowed. Bitterness traveled down her throat.

Viconia’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I thought I had come to learn that such mistakes are accounted for and such amends are made commonly on the surface.”

“I didn’t expect it of a drow,” confessed Thalia.

“And what are we to do with a drow who is not a ferocious, blind, sadistic killer?” Viconia smiled thinly.

She returned the smile with genuine warmth. “Thank you.”

“Now, then, if we are at better terms”—Thalia nodded—“then I wish to ask you something. Your surface notions of companionship are yet very foreign to me. Your Imoen, for example. I…” Viconia shuffled her papers before continuing, choosing her words carefully. “Away from prying ears, I must comment that I truly don’t think that, were the decision mine to make, I would bring the girl along, as you have. While she has her functions, as do all living creatures, and she performed acceptably in the battle with the necromancer, I’m not of the mind that they are truly worth the trouble of her. Then again, I acknowledge that I am drow and therefore think differently from you. What is the reasoning, then? Why do you take her along?”

Confused and unwilling to deal with explaining the nature of “surfacer” relationships so soon after waking, Thalia just sat back, not entirely surprised but struck dumb as to how to explain such things. “Imoen is more than just a member of this party,” she said. “She’s an old, dear friend.”

Viconia let out a high-pitched laugh of ridicule. “An old friend? Pfeh, truly. Do you expect me to believe you would consider her value to you as a… a ’friend’ before you would consider her stake in keeping us alive?”

Exasperated already, Thalia stood to leave. “She’s my sister,” she said. “I care for her and won’t have you bring any harm to her.”

Viconia paused, all scorn wiping itself from her face. Something distant stirred in her eyes. “I see,” she said. “Yes, thank you.”

Not fully awake but reluctant to return to bed, in case the strange, disturbing dreams returned to her as they often did, Thalia left the candlelit inn and breathed the fresh frosty air. Crops in Nashkel, as in most cities and towns, were protected by a cleric of Chauntea, who provided an unnatural warmth and light that even now seemed to radiate from the fields. Shame it didn’t take the frost from the cobblestone.

The town was calm; not a soul walked the single street, not even a guard, and all the shutters were boarded. Thalia sat on the edge of the bridge, feeding her legs through the rungs of the railing to dangle freely. The icy spray of the river burned her calves and the final cobwebs were blown from her mind with the crash of the rushing water. She rested her forehead against the pole that rose between her legs, relaxing in the bitter cold and sensations of her body.

Through the deep rumble of the river, Thalia still recognized the unmistakable sound of a guard walking. The hard ring-clack of heavy metal footsteps on stone, the light jingly rustle of chainmail shifting, the rhythmic clang of a weapon on a belt. They sped up.

She glanced back, then took a second look. It wasn’t a soldier and that gleam in her eye was deeply unsettling. The patron from the inn. A sinking feeling settled in her stomach as Thalia scrambled up to a standing position, just in time for the woman to stand before her.

Tall and broad from years of heavy training, a wickedly sharp halberd gleamed on her back. She wore a suit of plate that absorbed the light around it, appearing as black as the night she walked out of. 

“I expected a hunt and a chase from the description,” she said with a sneer, “but who am I to argue with fast coin?” She took the halberd off the latch where it was secured on her back and she squared up.

Thalia groaned. “Oh no.” The woman was between her and the town, blocking her way back and there was no way Thalia could survive the trip either down the river or into the woods by herself.

She was also distinctly aware that there was nothing between her own squishy form and the sharp end of that halberd. She swallowed the deep fear that began to weave itself, but it did little good. She trembled before the woman, looking desperately for an escape.

The woman bared her teeth, then took a balled up bunch of cloth from a bandolier slung over a shoulder and dropped it at Thalia’s feet, speaking a few short words before it fell.

Anticipating it, Thalia ran back over the bridge, taking care not to venture too far into the wild. The power of the magic lay her flat but she felt the majority of it ripple past her. Gasping, Thalia hastily climbed to her feet but only narrowly missed being decapitated. Although not skilled in hand-to-hand, even remotely, she managed to dodge the first few swings without much difficulty.

Thalia cried out in pain as red blossomed over her shirt. The blade had wrote a neat line over her breast and skimmed the surface. A terrifying amount of blood left the smarting skin. Taking energy from her wounded and unarmoured opponent, the woman continued with a rapid zeal, driving Thalia further backward and forcing her to predict moves with a weapon she had no experience in. 

She made mistakes. With each mistimed jump, woman jabbed her with the blunt of the pole, leaving wicked bruises. Aches spread over her chilled flesh and her leg throbbed with her heartbeat, turning to agony when she put weight on it. The woman only snarled and advanced further, the moonlight glinting off her impenetrable armor. 

The woman circled her again, seizing her up. Thalia didn’t dare take her eyes off the woman. Although she could call for help, that very effort could detract from her very important current mission of staying alive. 

Thalia dodged to the left. She didn’t see the feint until it was too late and the halberd pointed to her heart. Stumbling backwards at the last moment to avoid her death, she tripped and splayed out on the ground with a cry. 

The woman chuckled and redoubled her grip on the weapon. A malevolent glint shone in her eye. Thalia edged backwards, her wide eyes not leaving the point of the weapon, but she ran into the edge of the bridge. There was nowhere else to go. Sweat chilled on her forehead and her heart raced in what would be its final moments. She shut her eyes. The weapon whistled through the air.

It was instinct.

Later, that was all Thalia could come up with for what she had done.

Her right arm raised, palm flat, as though pleading for mercy. Her eyes opened and she saw the victorious snarl of the bounty hunter. Thalia’s spine arched with a painful lurch, as though someone had driven a dagger into the small of her back. Out of her palm burst a bolt of cherry red light that dashed and hit the woman square in the chest. It knocked her with the force of a battering ram and threw her from the bridge. The halberd clattered across the road.

Thalia stared blankly at the place where the bounty hunter stood a moment before. She used the bridge to pull herself to her feet. Her wounded leg thrummed with a volatile heat. Down below, the woman shouted and thrashed, fighting the current, but her armor weighed her down. Her head bobbed to the surface once, twice, gasping for air, before her body went limp and drifted down the river and out of sight.

Thalia swallowed hard and looked down at her bare palms. Calloused and hardened from years of hard use, pale in the starlight but dirty from the road. They trembled. What was becoming of her?

As the fear trickled down her spine, something else joined it. A certainty that she was being watched. Eyes in the dark. She scanned the dark wilds beyond the town limits, but could see… no one. Nothing. Emotions wound tight, she nearly sobbed, straining her eyes and ears at the darkness.

Behind her, a lone pair of hands clapped, echoing in the valley of the village.

Thalia quickly hid her hands and spun around. It was a man, but not a man like any other she had known. His robes were the scarlet of fresh blood and trimmed with gold. His mouth curled into a demeaning smirk, while his sunken eyes and sharp cheekbones made Thalia think of a skeleton. His hood laid down, she had a clear look at his head and once she had, she couldn’t stop staring. The man was completely bald but where others had hair, he was stained with tattoos. Magical runed dragons wove over his head densely, a few other beasts made their way down his forehead or over his shoulders to crawl up his neck but left his face mostly free. A stark black against his tanned skin, they gave the appearance of writhing snakes in the moonlight.

He stopped clapping and folded his hands together. “Well done, miss.” His voice was cold and arrogant. He spoke with a thick, smothering accent she had never heard before. “What is your name?”

Thalia’s stomach fell and she fumbled blindly for the fallen halberd if he turned to be yet another bounty hunter. A mage should certainly be easier to kill, she thought, but she easily recognised the accent as being far eastern, perhaps Thayvian. Her heart beat faster and she looked at his tattoos again. What were the chances they were fake?

“Thalia,” she said with dry mouth, her hand catching on the wooden pole. “Thalia,” she repeated, stronger. “Ward of Gorion.”

“Stay your weapon, woman,” he snapped with such menace that Thalia actually dropped it. “I am Edwin Odesseiron and I would have you work for me. Tis but the simple chore of killing the mad witch Dynaheir.”

Put somewhat at ease by the job offer, which was indeed simple, Thalia squared up to him. “What bounty is on this poor woman’s head?”

Edwin scoffed. “The prize I offer would surely be beyond measure in your meager understanding, but I anticipate that from the fear in your eyes, you understand who I am and what that might offer you.” He lifted his head even higher. “I stand as the Seventeenth Nashkir of Conjuration, a Red Wizard of the glorious and ancient nation of Thay.”

The back of her neck prickled at the thinly veiled threat. The Red Wizards of Thay were renowned for being some of the most powerful mortal mages in the Realms, perhaps even in all the Planes. They dedicated themselves to lords and monsters from the Outer Planes to enhance their power with magical tattoos, devoting their lives to advancing their magic regardless of the cost to themselves or others. They ruled Thay as a collective government and used the country to further their goals, whether they be in the arts of magic or war.

“Why would you have her dead?” she asked, her voice cracking. “What has she done?”

He brushed the comments aside. “Your little mind surely cannot fathom the intricate nature of Thayvian politics. Rest assured, it will be a simple job.”

Afraid of what he might do if she refused and desperate to return to the inn, she nodded. “Alright, then. I’ll do it.”

“Of course you will,” he said briskly, “it is as expected of you. My powerful magics have discovered her location. She lies imprisoned in a stronghold of gnolls in the western mountains, but, do not fear, I will travel with you.”

“What?” started Thalia. “No, no, no, you—”

He raised a lazy hand and silenced her wordlessly. She shivered with revulsion as the magic rolled over her, coiling like a serpent. Her tongue glued itself to the top of her mouth as though it tried to claw at her brain. His hands were also covered in tattoos and a single rune on his middle finger glowed red as he cast its spell. She tried to wrench the muscle away but it was soon clear that she would only end up injuring herself. Thalia tried to calm her breathing but found she could barely meet his eye without trembling in fear.

“We shall leave in the morn unless you have more pressing matters,” he said coldly. His black eyes glittered at her helplessness.

He lowered her hand and her tongue fell from her mouth. She stumbled backwards, gasping. “I’m traveling with a party,” she blurted. “They’re investigating the mines.”

“Oh?” The wizard appeared mildly interested. “Then perhaps I will join you.” He turned on his heel and put up his hood, his red cloak whispering across the stones.

Left alone to the cold and dark, her stomach sunk and Thalia felt like she had made a horrible mistake.


	7. Chapter 6: The Mines of Nashkel

“What do you mean were ‘hired by a Red Wizard’?” demanded Jaheira. “What nonsense is this?”

“There was a Red Wizard who was looking for someone to take a job and I… sort of… accidentally… took it,” said Thalia meekly.

Jaheira slammed her fist on the table. Imoen jumped, clutching her bowl of porridge to save it from the half-elf’s wrath. Thalia thought she ought to have saved her news until later, but she had already spotted the wizard’s red cloak outside the window. 

The inn was empty, save for the barkeep who offered their would-be saviours a free breakfast of hot oats cooked down in honeyed milk and topped with the last of the winter’s blackberry preserves. It was delicious, but, facing Jaheira’s anger, Thalia lost her appetite again.

Khalid sighed but his mouth held a stern line, betraying his deep worry. “C-Calm down, dear,” he said. “I’m sure T-Thalia had her reasons. Faced with a R-Red Wizard, unarmed, unarmoured, even you w-w-would agree.”

Jaheira shot him a furious look, then softened under his steady gaze. “You’re right, Khalid,” she said. “I am concerned that if we run from him, he will simply follow us, but he likely is only looking for a means to his end.”

“I wouldn’t mind killing an evil witch,” piped up Imoen, shoveling porridge in her mouth as fast as she could. “Taking down a gnoll fortress, claiming a bounty from a powerful wizard — just so long as it isn’t so heavy. But can we go to the carnival before we leave Nashkel?”

Jaheira, Khalid, and Thalia exchanged looks and silently argued over who should tell her.

Thalia lost. “Im,” she started gently, “do you remember your studies? Red Wizards aren’t very good people. They’re cruel and beastly. Likely, whoever this Dynaheir is, she’s a good person, someone who doesn’t deserve to die.”

Imoen sombered right up. “Oh,” she said, thinking it over. “So, we  _ aren’t _ helping him?”

“I say we keep t-t-track of him and then, when we find her, we can p-protect her from him,” said Khalid.

Jaheira nodded. “If we refused, he would find another who would kill her. At least in this ruse, we can ensure her safety.”

“Deceiving a Red Wizard seems an incredibly foolish thing to do,” came a smooth voice from down the hall. Viconia had finally risen and had wrapped her head up, a black veil over her face, her hands covered by gloves to hide her ashen skin. “Especially when you do not know if this Dynaheir would make a better ally. Perhaps she truly does deserve this bounty and putting her down would be…  _ noble _ .” Her voice twisted the word into an insult. 

“We can make that decision when we get to it,” said Jaheira firmly. “For now, let us meet this wizard and continue onto the mines.”

Finishing the last of their breakfast and paring down their packs to the essentials for this journey, the five of them left the inn, Viconia wincing at the bright morning sunlight.

Spotting Thalia, Edwin strode across the street, taking in the fullness of the company he hired. In the daylight, behind the experienced half-elves, the wizard seemed far less threatening. 

“As none of you greeted me, with surprise or otherwise, I expect she has spoken of our arrangement,” he said.

“We’re heading to the m-mines. You’re welcome to j-join us,” said Khalid in a voice that was anything but welcoming.

The wizard snorted at his stutter. “I hope you are more eloquent with your swords than your tongue.” His eyes wandered over the others, coming to rest on the well-bundled Viconia. “And what are you, a vampire?”

“Your death, should you not cease your insulting prattle, rivven,” she said.

“ ’Rivven’?” The wizard smiled broadly but it did not reach his eyes, which stared at her hungrily. “Ssrigg’tul ulu thalra dos, wanre d’Lolth.”

Although Thalia could not see her face, she knew Viconia was distinctly unamused by the display and her eyes narrowed at the mention of the drow spider goddess, Lolth.

“Usstan xun naut kla’ath Lolth, t’zarreth, jhal Usstan orn luthtar kus dos ulu thalra ilta,” hissed Viconia in response, shoving past him and almost knocking the skinny mage over.

Somewhat against her will and before the wizard could react, Jaheira led the new party of six out of the town and towards the entrance to the mines at the base of the mountains. Edwin fell into line a dozen steps behind the rest, checking the intricately decorated mahogany crossbow he carried. With a twirl of his hand, the string pulled back of its own accord and he slid a bolt into it. 

The entire time, Thalia felt Viconia fuming beside her, muttering darkly in drow. Thalia wasn’t particularly surprised Edwin spoke drow, as mages were known to speak many languages to commune with creatures from other Planes, but Viconia took it as a personal insult.

The mine was all but abandoned. A trail of dusty railway tracks left the entrance and circled the bottom of the shallow pit it was set in. Empty carts sat at the end of the track, while the shack offices of the miners’ bosses were barren of papers and hadn’t seen activity in quite some time.

The doors were chained together, a padlock dangling between them, but Imoen picked the brittle lock and unraveled the heavy, rusted chains. The doors swung open and the steep, dark tunnel into the mine was open to them.

Thrilled to get a chance to use one of their new purchases of adventuring gear, Imoen tied the oil lantern to her belt and lit it with a match, the orange light flickering over the uneven stone walls. Moments later, Jaheira spoke a cantrip and summoned a ball of light no larger than a clenched fist, which bobbed about the front of the group and bathed them and the tunnel ahead in a bright sunlight. Bidding them to stay behind her, Viconia walked just out of the light’s reach, blending effortlessly into the darkness, shortsword in one hand and a throwing dagger prepared in the other.

Within, it was just as quiet as it was outside with not a soul to be seen, the work left in place. A few veins were still partially intact, but they were pitted with holes, as if corroded by acid. Carts half-full of rock dotted the tracks and forced them to edge alongside the walls, for fear that pushing the carts along would alert anything below to their presence. A musty, damp smell clung to the walls and the slightest noises echoed endlessly through the tunnels. It reminded Thalia of walking into the grand library at Candlekeep, or a crypt. 

Their lights flickered and cast long shadows of the support beams around corners in the endless maze of twisting corridors. Spiders were caught in the light and their spindly shadows splayed across the wall, making them jump and reach for their weapons. Thalia guarded hers closely, the warmth of her magical weapon little comfort. Her heart pounded as every whispered word seemed like a shout that would bring demons raging from the lower levels.

A scream sounded off the walls, echoing from deep below. The screams reached a crescendo, then fell silent. 

Jaheira put a hand out to stop the procession, but there were no more noises from below, just the scratching pad of clawed feet on stone. “Move, come on,” she whispered urgently, and then took off at a run down the tunnels, her feet barely touching the ground.

Thalia and the others hurried to catch up with her, but she was careful to never run too far ahead and to never run more than a turn out of sight. Their pounding feet echoed off the walls, their metal armour clanging like a smithy.

When Thalia rounded the last corner, the tunnel opened into a wide hall. Jaheira knelt on the ground, her hand pressed to the thin, bare chest of a fallen man, a miner, but not the one who had screamed. His skin was waxy and pulled tight over his bones. Almost two dozen arrows stuck out of his body haphazardly and parts of his arms and legs were gnawed on.

“It’s likely no worry,” said Jaheira, standing. “He’s been dead for some days and whatever killed him neither has use of bodies for food nor the hunting proficiency to kill cleanly. Might be a pair of lost xvarts, but not our quarry.”

“Maybe whatever released the arrows only fired one each, so they have no need for accuracy,” said Viconia, putting a boot on the man’s groin and wrenching an arrow free from his belly. “The arrows are short-range, handmade by no master craftsman.” The shaft was full of warbles and the mismatched feathers from wild birds.

“You think we’re dealing with such a large group?” said Jaheira, wrinkling her brow.

“No single opponent would unleash so many arrows to kill one man and even a small group of three or four wouldn’t let so many fly. They would have faith in their numbers.” Viconia shrugged, dropping the arrow. “Then again, I am unfamiliar with the wildlife of the surface world.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, greyskin, we are not on the surface,” drawled Edwin.

Imoen bit back a snicker behind Thalia. She traded an apprehensive look at Khalid, who bit back his own smile. Viconia crossed the few meters between her and the wizard and raised her hand. Before even Edwin could stop her, she slapped him hard across the face, the smack rebounding off the walls back at him and making him stumble back.

“My name is Viconia,” she said with a deathly calm. “You will address me as such.”

He nodded shortly, his face as red as his robes.

“Then we will continue,” she said, looking him up and down with a sneer. “And you will learn your place, male.”

Astounded by the display and feeling more than a little jealous of her bravery, Thalia followed Viconia, Khalid, and Jaheira, who now led the party more cautiously down the tunnels and down into lower levels. Edwin followed a little further behind Imoen, sulking in his own way at being chastised and nursing his wounded pride.

The further down they traveled, the more they heard the little pitter-patter of many clawed feet sprinting across the stone floors. Viconia scouted the darkened corridors and around corners, but returned with nothing.

Eventually, they came across a pair of kobolds. The stench of wet dog gave them away more than a tunnel behind. Only two feet tall, they were a mess of sinewy limbs, covered in scales with long lizard-like snouts and tails, with bows on their backs, swords in their hands, and raggety leather armor cladding their tiny bodies. They also had large, clawed feet and powerful hind legs for jumping. The pair yipped to each other quietly.

Even Jaheira raised her eyebrows. While kobolds enjoyed mining and were known to take a tunnel or two for their own or use their clever traps to scare away workers, they were definitely not shrewd enough to convince an entire town of lifelong miners that they were dangerous demons.

Imoen and Viconia looked at each other, then raised their own weapons and let off two shots. An arrow and dagger buried themselves in the chests of the kobolds, who fell, whimpering in pain as they bled out onto the floor. Imoen ducked forward to paw through the corpses, but aside from a few coppers, the kobolds carried nothing of interest. 

The meeting with the kobolds unnerved the group, who could find no reasonable explanation for the dead miners or supposed demons who lived in the mines. Any miner worth his salt would recognise the signs of a kobold infestation and work to clear it out. If it was a particularly nasty hoard, maybe one or two miners would fall, but so many?

The floor sloped downwards again to an even lower level, where they ran into a few more kobolds, always in pairs. Imoen stopped them a few times as she spotted their traps; little tripwires, nearly invisible garrott wires strung at neck-level, trips that set off magical dweomers. These last ones confirmed their suspicions. Someone was exploiting the kobolds’ hatred of larger creatures to poison the mine, as kobolds had no command of magic themselves and were not known to employ such devices.

“What’re these?” whispered Imoen.

Thalia turned back to look. Imoen knelt on the floor, picking coppers off the foul-smelling kobolds, but now had a few small jars in her hands. Stoppered with cork, the glass was completely opaque. After Viconia assured her they were safe to open, Imoen did and immediately pulled back, a foul look on her face.

“Whatever they are, they’re  _ awful _ ,” she said, handing them off to the dark elf.

Viconia dipped her fingers into the jars, then retracted them almost instantly and moved to pass them to Jaheira. Edwin reached for them, but after a glare from Viconia, he backed down. Thalia looked over Jaheira’s shoulder at the contents. Inside was a thick, creamy green fluid that smelled like rotten onions and burnt hair. 

Jaheira wrinkled her nose at the potion, then dipped the iron sword of one of the fallen kobolds into it. The blade drank up the potion eagerly, glowing a pale green as Jaheira pulled it out. She ran a finger over the blade and it began to crumble in her hands.

“I t-think we might’ve solved the iron c-crisis,” said Khalid with a chuckle.

Jaheira recorked the jars and placed them in her pack for safekeeping before motioning for them to continue on. They followed the mining tunnels deeper, but it became readily apparent that the tunnels they were now going down had never been used for mining. Rather than supported by wooden struts, they were free-standing, the ceilings higher and the walls bare of the tell-tale markings of mining tools, the floors clear of rail tracks. Stalagmites and -tites grew in dangerous spikes that spoke of monstrous teeth. The floor was dotted occasionally with corpses, some a few tendays old, others had been there maybe for months and reeked of death.

“Does anyone else smell ‘inn’?” asked Imoen in a whisper. As the group edged through a clustering of pointed stone stalagmites, the most peculiar smell reached them over the stench of death and damp cave. It was the smell of roasting meat and spiced wine, warm and comforting.

Turning down the other tunnel, they followed the smell into a forked antechamber. Jaheira and Viconia nodded their lights to cautiously approach down one of the rooms. One of them was filled with human skeletons, the bones scattered haphazardly in a huge pile. The next held a storeroom, a mess of arms and armor, sacks of food and supplies.

The roasting meat and wine came from the third hall. An orange light fluttered around the corner. Approaching quietly with weapons drawn, Jaheira and Khalid peered around the edge, Jaheira signalling back that only one was in there, at the far end. She counted down their assault on her fingers. Three. Viconia and Edwin prepared their spells as quietly as they could. Two. Thalia and Khalid arranged their stance, tensing for combat. One. Imoen notched an arrow and let the group rush past her, keeping the corner for cover.

Thalia started when she got into the room. It was was clearly well lived-in and the home of someone for many months. Sturdy, pillowed furniture stood in every corner, while the walls held candles and fraying rugs carpeted the hard stone floor.  Half-rolled scrolls and discarded quills covered a desk and coffee table, a plush upholstered chair sat before a magical smoke-less fire and spit, upon which cooked a small pig.

The chair itself fell backwards as its occupant stumbled in surprise. “Wh-What? How’d you get in here?” it said in a thin, gravelly voice. “Tazok must’ve sent you and my traitorous kobolds let you pass, didn’t they? Oh  _ no! _ ” he whined suddenly, wringing his hands from where he knelt on the ground. The creature was a half-orc, gifted by its heritage with murky greenish skin, bulky shoulders, and little sense. “He sent you to kill me! By Cyric, not a measure of ore leaves these mines unspoiled and I’m  _ still _ to be executed?”

Jaheira stared at him but quickly recovered. “Yes… fool! Tazok is very displeased with you!” she said forebodingly. “Reveal your treachery and maybe he will spare you!”

The half-orc’s eyes grew wide with desperation. “Tazok is unfair,” he said in a small voice. “He will never spare dear old Mulahey. Minions!” he roared the last word, his voice bouncing off the walls until there sounded to be a hundred of him.

Jaheira lunged at him with her blade but screamed in pain as she stumbled into a trap hidden under the rug, a magical snare that tore straight through her armor and latched onto her ankle. The more she struggled, the more it dug into her, determined to rip her foot from the end of her leg.

Mulahey reached for a smokey vial on the table and finished his spell, erecting a magical shield just in time to catch the first of Imoen’s arrows. He plucked it from the air and threw it back at her with a laugh. She yelped and ducked to avoid it.

Thalia and Khalid edged across the floor, wary of more traps, but it gave Mulahey the time he needed to prepare another spell. Jaheira tried to throw one at him from where she had collapsed. It collided into his magical shield, green sparks flying with a hiss.

Ending the spell with a clap of his hands, a horrible gust of wind roared out of him and threw Thalia, Khalid, and Jaheira into the back wall of the cave, knocking the breath out of them and tearing Jaheira forcibly from the trap. Tables blew out of the way. Papers whipped through the air.

Spots wavered before Thalia’s eyes and pain shot through her back from where her armour had bruised and cracked her bones. She coughed. White-hot pain radiated down her back and hips. The bow on her back had splintered, its sharp ends jabbing between the plates of armor. She gripped an overturned table and pulled herself to her feet. 

“Lia!” screamed Imoen.

Thalia then heard the yip-yipping battle cries of kobolds. Her heart fell. Dozens of them. Although not difficult on their own, entire packs of them could easily tear the group to shreds, especially now.

“Khalid, you take him,” groaned Thalia, pointing to Mulahey.

Khalid glanced to his barely-breathing wife, who had taken the brunt of the cave and was losing a great deal of blood through the stump at the end of her leg. Khalid swallowed and nodded, a determined calm in his eyes.

With each step she took, the pain lessened. Imoen backed further down the hall and into Mulahey’s room, frenziedly shooting arrows back into the bouncing horde of red-orange kobolds. They had maybe a minute before they were on them.

“Where did Viconia and that wizard go?” demanded Thalia, pushing them back around the corner and narrowing avoiding a magic bolt from Mulahey. She pulled Imoen behind her as the jumping kobolds started to shoot their misshapen arrows.

“S-She said she was going to get help,” said Imoen. Her eyes were wide and her lip shook. Her Wand of Magic Missiles sat in her hand, depleted of all charges, the gem at the tip dull and empty.

Thalia ground her teeth and swore. She didn’t want to believe Viconia would run. While maybe not loyal, she claimed she had an honour of repaying debts. Thalia had no difficulty believing the wizard would run to the surface and find another band to take his job.

The kobolds started to screech in pain and fear. Thalia lowered her shield briefly and saw them turn back to fight another foe.

“What the…”

A grinding, clacking clatter came over the screams of the kobolds, like so many wooden swords hitting each other. Around the corner came more than a dozen skeletons, most of them fully intact but some of them were bereft of arms and headbutted or kicked or else were hopping along on one leg.

Behind them all, concentrating so hard sweat beaded down their faces, were Viconia and Edwin. Relief poured from Thalia and she almost collapsed against the wall as the skeletons ripped their way through the kobolds. Imoen laughed in a hysterical sort of a way, clutching Thalia in a tight hug. 

The rickety undead charged down the hall and into the room, where Khalid managed to barely hold his own against Mulahey, who had found a sword and bringing down blow upon blow on Khalid’s defensive blades.

Thalia and Imoen moved aside to let the skeletons pass. When he realised they were friends, Khalid collapsed beside his fallen wife. The consort of wobbly, sharp-fingered skeletons tore into Mulahey mercilessly, but already the spell was weakening. Thalia grimaced and redoubled the grip on her sword, trying to ready herself if the skeletons didn’t kill him. 

Mulahey bled from tatters in his robes. The veins and chunks of flesh that were torn open brought splatters of blood to the cave floor. He lost strength in his arm when the skeletons started gnawing on it and with a sickening snap, his arm bent at an odd angle and the sword fell.

As one, Viconia and Edwin lost their mental control and the skeletons dissolved into a scattering of bones, but Mulahey was already defeated. Crazed from being attacked by his own minions and the obvious approach of his own death by Thalia’s wearily risen sword.

“Wait! I yield!” he shrieked, lifting his hands in defence from where he cowed on the ground. “I  _ yield _ ! Accept my surrender!”

“Compassion is a weakness, Thalia,” said Viconia shortly, her hand clutching her head as she relaxed from the mental strain. “Kill him and be done with this.”

“Your heart is of the deepest black!” cursed Mulahey, but his last word dissolved into a scream as Thalia’s sword plunged into his chest. 

“Oh, do shut up,” she groaned. 

Panting, Thalia wrenched the blade out and wiped it on Mulahey’s stained and torn robes. She looked on in concern as she heard Khalid rush toward the fallen Jaheira, who was quickly paling in a pool of blood. Though the priest at Nashkel assured them all he was skilled at resurrection, none wanted to test his skills. A decidedly calmer voice spoke in a measured drow and a light engulfed Jaheira’s leg, sealing the wound off and a small measure of awareness returned to Jaheira’s face.

“That will have to do until we come to a cleric whose god is more in touch with healing,” said Viconia with a note of finality. “Shar is not the healing type.”

“Th-Th-Thank you,” said Khalid, as he poured over his appreciation to her.

Thalia got up unsteadily and started to make her way back to Mulahey’s fallen and mangled body. He was still not quite dead, but whimpering and spluttering wordlessly. They had destroyed the mastermind behind the iron crisis, who had nearly sparked a war with Amn, and she had been the one to deliver the final blow. Though her stomach turned, her heart was steady and she met his terrified gaze evenly until the mortal wound finally took him. A rattling sigh left her. Perhaps she was getting used to this after all. 

[ The tapestry ](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/forgottenrealms/images/0/0f/Drizzt_-_Homeland.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20110407211654) covering the nearest wall was very familiar. It was from a popular bard song about Drizzt, when he left Menzoberranzan and began his long wanders in the Underdark alongside his panther companion. Thalia chuckled and wondered if they could roll it up to take back to the inn.

“Im, did you see—?” Thalia turned and immediately paled, her heart felt cold. “Imoen?”

Imoen wavered, her hand flat against the wall in the hallway. Her other hand had dropped her bow and was clutching one of the arrows buried inside her stomach. She shook, blood dripping from her half-open mouth as she stared wordlessly at Thalia.

“Imoen!” 

Thalia stumbled towards Imoen and brought her gently to the ground. Her skin was cold and clammy. Blood soaked through her armor and dripped to the floor. Thalia tried to pull one of the arrows free but the sharp, high-pitched cry from Imoen stopped her. She stroked the damp hair from Imoen’s face and pulled her closer, onto her lap.

“Viconia,” called Thalia, but she didn’t need to. 

The dark elf knelt next to her, anticipating the plea. “I cannot.”

A tightness choked Thalia’s heart and throat, rising into her head and meeting the wetness behind her eyes. “What?”

“Shar gifts me with but one healing charm a day,” whispered Viconia. “I am deeply sorry, Thalia. It would take me four hours to prepare another and the girl... “ She took a deep breath. “Imoen does not have four hours.”

“Then a potion — Jaheira bought loads,” stammered Thalia.

Viconia already had one and passed her a bottle. “Potions of healing work through time, coursing through the body’s natural systems. They aren’t magic, Thalia,” she said in a voice she probably thought was kind.

Thalia pretended not to hear her. Her fingers struggled with the cork. She lifted Imoen’s head higher and tipped the bottle into her mouth. The viscous potion drippled out onto her tongue and Thalia felt her swallow. Imoen took a shuddering, gurgling breath and blood filled her mouth. She spluttered, blood and potion mingling. An embittered cold touched them both. A dark, gloomy image formed in Thalia’s mind of a world without Imoen.

“Just drink, you idiot,” said Thalia. She looked to Viconia, fighting back sobs. “Another one.”

“Thalia—”

“Another one!” she shouted.

Despite her better judgement, Viconia sighed and passed along another bottle, not meeting her eyes. This one, at least, largely made it inside Imoen, who cringed at the taste.

Imoen closed her eyes, her face grew lined and wrinkled as her pain increased, her hands twisting around the arrows stuck in her. She bit her lip and more blood trickled out. Thalia’s hands were wet as it dripped through her fingers. She tried to apply pressure but Imoen arched her back and whimpered, turning her head to the wall as even more colour drained from her face.

“If you want,” said Viconia, reaching for her sword, “the most I can offer is to end her suffering now and we can bring her to the priest.”

“Don’t you dare,” spat Thalia. “Don’t you touch her.”

“Do not be unreasonable,” said Viconia, putting a hand on her shoulder in an awkward attempt at comfort. “There is no point letting her suffer here.”

“Then we feed her more potions and carry her back to town as fast as we can,” demanded Thalia. “I’m not letting you kill her.”

The bloodflow began to ease behind her fingers, but she couldn’t figure out if the potions were working or not.

Viconia stood, unwilling to reason anymore. Thalia could feel their eyes on her, perhaps their judgments, but the only thing she could see was Imoen, her closest friend, her sister, and the life slowly draining out of her. Thalia was transfixed. Tears fell down her face in the anticipation of the inevitable.

The strength left the hand gripping hers and the pained lines in her face began to relax. Imoen breathed out. Her chest fell but did not rise.

The tears that choked her found release and she pulled Imoen’s limp form tight to her and buried her face into her shoulder. A dark sorrow and pain began to overwhelm her and Thalia found she couldn’t cry hard enough as she choked on her sobs.

A small gasp sounded in her ear and, at first, Thalia believed it was her own sobs. But when she coughed, she knew it was her. Imoen. Her arms returned the hug weakly and Thalia’s sobs doubled over in joy. As her mind slowly came back to her, Imoen began to cry too and she crawled deeper into the hug.

Thalia pawed Imoen’s body, feeling for the deep holes the arrows had entered but found none. Imoen seemed similarly astounded, prodding the holes in her armor but finding only blemish-free, bloodstained skin, the arrows pulling out smoothly. Not even pain.

Behind the sisters, Viconia looked on in horror.


	8. Chapter 7: The Coin, the Priest, and the Lion

The journey back to the surface was a long, arduous one. Although the path was clear of enemies, Khalid carried his unconscious wife and Thalia struggled to support the weakened Imoen. Viconia had made no mention to the others of her being unable to help Imoen and, as far as the others were aware, Viconia had single-handedly saved both their lives — or, at least, a small fortune in payment to the cleric to attempt to raise them. With his assistance in the mines, Edwin had also earned the grudging trust of the rest, not that he cared any for it. When they returned to the town, he abandoned the group to their own affairs with a disdainful sniff at their heroics.

At the small chantry, they found the mayor Berrun, who was appalled at the condition of his saviours. He gave them a “small favour” in the sum of two thousand gold coins as well as the town’s thanks and chantry services for free, as the town had little in coin. Khalid stayed with Jaheira and Imoen as the priest looked them over and tended to their wounds. 

At once, Thalia felt Viconia grab her roughly by the arm and her stomach dropped. The elf drove her back to the inn and her room, where she latched the door behind them. Viconia rounded on Thalia.

“What in the name of all the unholy spiders was that?” she hissed.

Thalia sat back on the bed, hands raised. “Can we not look a gift horse in the mouth, here? Imoen was dead, now she’s alive.”

Viconia was outraged. “Can you not see it! Do you have  _ any _ idea how difficult it is to raise the dead? Most priests and clerics who offer such services spend a lifetime studying to be able to even attempt it with the most pristine of corpses.” She sat next to Thalia and tried to drill home her words, speaking very carefully. “No one there was able to revive her corpse.”

“What are you trying to say?” whispered Thalia, fearing the worst.

Viconia sighed impatiently. “I witnessed the last of your battle through the window the previous night. The spell you cast—without a word, without a component?” Thalia looked away, ashamed but relieved someone with a great deal more knowledge than her finally knew. “Ah,” said Viconia as understanding came over her and her anger melted into superiority, “you do not know what caused it.”

“You think I brought her back,” said Thalia dully. “If I had, I would’ve taken credit.”

“That is true,” considered Viconia with a shrewd eye. “But such magic is the sole power of divine clerics, not wizards, and I have no such skill. But you are certainly more powerful than even I had originally thought.”

“ ‘Even you’?” repeated Thalia, looking up from her hands.

Viconia stood again and put a hand on the door, debating whether or not to tell her the truth. Making a decision, she spoke in a matter-of-fact voice. “When I was using the common road, I was stopped by a Flaming Fist company of five. I managed to slay four of them before running out of offensive spells. I was forced to flee and so I called upon a detection spell, to view and run towards the nearest, greatest beacon of magical power. I spotted a trio of lights: one, a moderate green I knew to be a competent druid—Jaheira, the second was a feeble white, that of a person with particular innate but unhoned magical talent—Imoen, and a viciously blinding light of gold—you. I ran towards you and assumed such power to be the leader of this little band.” Her mouth twisted into a light mockery. “Obviously, I was mistaken.”

Thalia opened and closed her mouth. Her skin crawled at the idea of her having a magical nature. “What does gold light mean?”

Viconia shook her head, her brow furrowed. “I myself have never seen it. The only other colours I know of when detecting magical natures is clerical blue and, unfortunately, arcane red. It... unnerves me.”

Viconia’s uncertainty frightened her. Here she was, someone with so much knowledge about the arcane and divine magic, so many years of practical use of her talents, and she still was stumped. Thalia shook her head again.

“I don’t  _ have  _ a magical nature,” she insisted. “I’ve never been apprenticed, I’ve never studied magic. I’ve never had ‘odd happenings’ around me.”

Viconia rolled her eyes and gave a tight-lipped smile. “Fine, you do not have a magical nature. Perhaps one of your gods brought her back out of the goodness of their soft hearts.”

After thinking for a moment, an amusing thought came to Thalia. “What of the Red Wizard?”

Viconia barked a laugh. “He is remarkably powerful and has not even reached his full potential as a practitioner. Unfortunately, I fear he knows this and already has mastered a great deal of it. Elsewise, I would’ve killed him for his impudence.” Seeing the look on Thalia’s face, she hastily added, “Not without your permission. Of course.”

Thalia smiled thinly. “Of course.”

**)*(**

It was late that evening before Jaheira managed to walk to the inn. The priest of Lathander had worked all day on her and managed to complete the complex and, on the part of the patient, excruciating process of regrowing body parts. Now, aside from her missing boot and the colour in her face, Jaheira was mostly alright. They set her before the fire that night with a mug of strong beer in her hand, ignoring her weak protestations that she needed to write to the Harpers to tell them of the mines.

Viconia retired early to prepare her spells and commune with Shar, while Edwin had still not returned and Imoen continued her coma-like sleep as she recovered. Khalid sat beside Jaheira through the night, sharpening their weapons and telling her of how the battle had gone, of her and Imoen’s grave injuries and Viconia’s desperate heroism, not to mention the necromantic squadron they had constructed from the bones of Mulahey’s victims. 

Thalia sat across from Jaheira, as she slowly drifted off to the rhythmic grinding and wiping as Khalid maintained their weapons.

“She’s had a hard day,” he said, smiling to himself and tucking her crusted hair behind her ears.

Thalia looked over the documents Viconia had retrieved from Mulahey’s lair at the base of the mines. Aside from the basic inventory, calculations, and cataloguing of supplies, a few letters were truly troubling.

Mulahey had been receiving instruction from one called Tazok, to hire assassins and a few choice guilds of unscrupulous bounty hunters to kill her. There were letters dating back several tendays, detailing her movements as Mulahey passed them along to other assassins. 

This was it. Thalia read the name over and over again. Tazok. The armored figure who had orchestrated the death of her father and sent the killers after her and Imoen. 

Khalid read her face as she read the letters. “I suppose,” he said, “t-this isn’t over. You mean t-to look further into this conspiracy.”

Thalia lowered the letters and thought about her answer. “Until I settle accounts with Gorion’s murderer, it will never be over.”

Khalid’s face sombered, the firelight flickering over his seriousness. “I hope this won’t d-degenerate into a bloody-minded quest for vengeance.” He did not say it judgingly, merely as a warning.

“Revenge is a good enough motive for me,” said Thalia bitterly, remembering her vivid dream of Gorion’s unending death.

Khalid paused, then nodded. “T-Then I will accompany you as best as I am able,” he promised.

She frowned and lifted the papers, not to continue reading them but to avoid his eye. Thalia didn’t doubt his sincerity but she very much doubted her worth of such trust and faith. She would take herself to the grave for a chance at Gorion’s murderer, that much she knew, but she didn’t know if she could take it on her conscious to drag down two of his old friends as well. But, they were grown adults, probably a fair bit older than they looked, as elves and half-elves aged remarkably slowly. They were likely in their seventies, despite looking perhaps half that. As full-blood elves aged even slower, Viconia could be double even that. They had lived the span of human lifetimes and were free and fit to make their own decisions.

Khalid coughed a little. “Anything interesting in t-those letters?”

Thalia pulled herself from her thoughts and started shifting the pages, looking for one in particular. “This one is.”

 

_ Mulahey, _

_ Your progress in disrupting the flow of iron does not go as well as it should. How  _ _ stupid _ _ could you be to allow your kobolds to murder the miners? With your presence revealed, you should be wary of our enemies sent to stop your operation. Your task is a very simple one. If you continue to show that you can’t do the job, you will be replaced and not live to find another position. I will not send the kobolds you have requested as I need all the troops I possess to stop the flow of iron from my end. With this message, I have sent another shipment of mineral poison, though. Put it to good use. _

_ If you have any problems, send a message to your new contact in Beregost, a half-orc by the name of Tranzig, he’ll be staying at Feldepost’s Inn from 24 March to the end of April. _

_ Tazok _

“He won’t b-be there for even another tenday and a half,” said Khalid thoughtfully. “We should p-probably take care of the wizard’s bounty in the meantime.”

Thalia winced, anticipating the long trek west for Edwin, then north to return to Beregost and confront Mulahey’s contact, Tranzig. “You’re right,” she sighed.

“I d-doubt Jaheira or Imoen will be up to the journey yet,” said Khalid, setting down Imoen’s bow, which he had begun to oil. “A day’s easy rest would d-do them good. Perhaps the Nashkel C-Carnival?”

Thalia nodded, yawning. “Sounds like a plan.”

From the back rooms, came the faint cries and whimpers of Imoen. Her heart sinking, Thalia leapt from her chair and left Khalid and the letters behind in her haste. The girl twisted brutally in her covers, curled to the side, her hands clenched in whitened fists. 

Thalia pulled the blankets off her and laid her arms flat. She was drenched in sweat. “Shhh, Imoen. Hey, hey, Im. Imoen!” she said, louder and louder. She had never seen someone brought back from the dead -- was this a normal thing or sign of things gone wrong? Thalia pulled Imoen’s shirt up, but no wounds marred her body.

At last, Imoen’s eyes shot open and she gasped. Her gasps turned to sobs as she buried her face in Thalia’s shoulder, turning into the hug and pulling Thalia into bed. Knowing now that things were mostly alright, Thalia stroked her hair soothingly and whispered calming shushes in her ears. Somewhere between “I’m right here” and “Everything’s fine, you’re safe”, Imoen’s form began to calm down and her breathing slowed and deepened.

Relaxing back into the warmth of her bed, Thalia continued to stroke her hair and she wondered if she could ever tell Imoen about her last dreams, her bizarre power, or the assassins pursuing them, but then she looked into Imoen’s desperate sleeping face and knew that Imoen had more important things to worry about.

**)*(**

Hidden away in a clearing in the woods outside Nashkel, the carnival loomed between the trees with so many bright colours, it looked like an elvish village. Tents were a patchwork of vibrant reds and blues and yellows, while booths were painted in a similar gaiety and even the performers, jugglers, and bards dressed to stand out from the rainbow. Stations with food and drink lured in the miners with the promise of cold beer and hot pies. 

Imoen, too, had a wooden mug in her hand that she was constantly sipping from. 

“I want to spin the wheel,” she announced mid-day when they arrived at the already bustling carnival. She stopped the party in front of a painted wooden wheel the size of a man, with wedges ranging from prizes in coin to magical trinkets. 

Jaheira had come only grudgingly but agreed that walking would be good for her, while Viconia was more interested in the self-proclaimed magicians and sellers who stocked their tents with supposedly rare magical merchandise. 

Imoen was primarily there for the drink.

Handing over a silver to the wheel tender, she spun it with all her weight and hopped excitedly as the pointer ticked over the different wedges before landing on…

“Two copper?” Imoen’s mouth fell open and Thalia dragged her away before she forked over more money.

“Such games are a farce,” complained Jaheira, directing herself and Khalid to a long table. 

Nearby, an ox roasted over an open fire, periodically sliced and wrapped in spicy flat breads. Supposedly a common street food in Amn, the annual carnival was a celebration of the mingling cultures between Baldur’s Gate and their southern neighbour, but this year they also had the freeing of their mines to celebrate.

“Do your people have festivals, too?” asked Imoen as she walked beside Viconia.

“Oh, we do. Nothing like this, though,” she said without emotion. “Festivals and celebrations on Lolth’s holy days, sacrifices of blood and wealth, perhaps a summoning of one of her handmaidens to bear witness and then a city-wide celebration of prayer, hymns, and communion between those of noble blood and Lolth’s handmaidens upon the altar.”

“What sorta communion?”

Viconia smiled without humour. “The sexual kind.”

Imoen blanched but gulped the rest of her beer. “Wow. Alright. Let’s go see the Evereskans!” 

She pointed to a large tent in a reflective silvery white, emblazoned with a snow white eagle. Evereska was one of the last old elven kingdoms, racially and culturally pure. They often came to carnivals and trade-shows with wares to sell, from rare magical components to hand-crafted jewelry. Drow also despised the surface elves and by Viconia’s disgruntled hesitation, Thalia felt there was no love lost between them.

Imoen dragged Viconia to the tent, while Thalia meandered further down the main track. Every few tents, someone shouted out for her to try on Tymora’s favour or admire their exotic displays, their banners and headlines speaking for themselves. 

Thalia found herself unable to relax, though. She and Imoen had often dreamed of owning something Evereska-made, knowing even a lightly enchanted ring could cost a fortune, but her mind was a million miles away. She couldn’t shake Viconia’s concern over her “magical nature”, as if she had such a thing. The more she thought about it, the more she was able to convince herself that the Red Wizard had cast the knockback spell on the bridge through her or using her soul or something equally evil and devious to put her on edge.

One particular carnival man had an interesting spiel. A dwarf, decked out in gold robes and perched on a tall platform, screamed at the top of his stout lungs, “Gaze upon a true Planetouched! A foul and evil tiefling, born from the bloodshed of the Abyss and reared in the mists of Fate! Have your fortune told by a creature from Beyond! Come on, come on, miss, have any questions about your future?” Although he stood beside a covered wagon, the board above his head proclaimed it to hold the Realms’ only Fortune-Telling Tiefling.

Inspired more by pity than any interest in fortune-telling, Thalia climbed the few short stairs and let herself be led within for a few gold. Her heart broke a little when she saw the tiefling. 

Tieflings were half-breeds. While half-elves could find a place among humans with little difficulty but were disgraced by elvenkind, and half-orcs were prized for their strength and use among nefarious organizations but shunned in pleasant company, tieflings were half-breeds with no home to turn to. Tieflings were the product of a union with one from the Lower Planes and a mortal from the Material Plane. They often bore the features of the Planesborn they descended from, marking them as part-fiend and of unsavoury company. Gorion had spoken fondly of a few he had met within the Harpers and always reminded Thalia that tieflings were not any more predisposed to evil than humans. Still, tieflings were feared or hunted in the Material, or they were enslaved as this one had been.

A few slatted windows let in faint lines of sunlight, though most of the caravan was lit by candlelight. Incense bowls smoked along the walls, giving off a heady, sweet scent that made her head spin. Oriental scarfs hung over the bare wood, while the tiefling sat on the opposite end before a table, on a cushion. A faint shimmer wove its way around him that Thalia recognised as magical, an incomplete illusion charm that concealed and silenced a set of heavy iron manacles and collar. His skin resembled cracked bricks, while the hair that poured from his head was thin and blond it was partially shaved in order to show off his rows of horns that curved backwards. His eyes were pure white, as were the half-plucked wings folded on his back. 

Thalia sat across from him on a pillow on the floor and clearly didn’t do a good job about concealing her pity.

“This life is not all bad,” said the tiefling with a forced smile. His voice was delicate and smooth, almost seductive. “Better than those who bought me last.” He picked up a deck of long, purple cards from next to him and began to shuffle. Each hand of his had seven fingers, their nails curved black talons. 

“Can you actually tell the future?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

A small genuine smile crawled across his face. “Not really,” he said sheepishly. “Not with cards, the way humans want it done. The future can’t be read like the verses in a song, but I can relate images or ideas, even phrases sometimes.”

He snapped the cards as he shuffled in a practised, smooth motion that spoke of his countless days as a slave.

“I could free you,” blurted Thalia.

He chuckled darkly and then splayed the cards before her. “Pick a card.”

“The rest of my party and I, we could—”

“Card,” he insisted, waving the splayed cards before her. “Please.”

Thalia pointed at one. He set it aside and shuffled the rest of the deck.

“Slavery is still illegal in the Sword Coast,” said Thalia, her brow furrowing. In the western and northern realms slavery was outlawed and seen as barbaric and cruel, but the southern and eastern nations had very different ideas, as did the dwarves.

The tiefling took a deep breath, smiling faintly. “We are not all so lucky, miss. Another, please.”

She picked a second card. “If you don’t want to leave—” she started.

“Where would I go?” he asked sharply, losing his thin facade completely. He snapped the shuffled deck onto the floor, his face holding an expression approaching desperation. “Should I rather travel to the Lower Planes, find work there as a mercenary and work for blood money, a nameless soldier in service to greater devil or fiend? At least here, I can live without the taint of my blood following into my soul.”

“I have a drow in my company,” countered Thalia.

He laughed. It was a harsh, guttural noise that made him sound far less than human. “Your heart is surely as black as theirs, then,” he said, possibly knowing he mimicked Mulahey’s last words.

“Says the tiefling,” she said wryly.

He conceded the point but didn’t take his eyes off his red hands. “I cannot leave,” he said. “I cannot.” 

It was then that Thalia saw his reluctance for what it was, cowardice. His lack of bravery cemented his future in the caravan, as a chained slave. He was frightened of leaving all he had known for the slim chance of a better life and, in a way, Thalia understood him, perhaps even sympathised.

Instead of arguing, she picked a third card. 

He turned over the three cards she had chosen. They were intricately and brightly painted, bearing the images of a gold coin spinning in mid-air, a priest standing on a cliff and engulfed by white smoke, and a upside down golden lion. He ran his finger slowly over the coin card, his mouth slightly open.

“Are they any good?” asked Thalia with a smile. 

He continued to trace the outline of the coin. “Your coin is on its edge,” he said in a dim, hollow voice and seemed almost to be talking to himself. “You are at odds with yourself… The abandoned child, the brother-slayer… The street-born thief from Zhentil Keep, most lonely and forgotten. The three of one… dead but not buried… The empty throne, embittered and wanting... The mad exile, mad with hubris and love and loathing and bloodlust and  _ power _ … Y-Your coin is on its edge.” The finger tracing the coin shook slightly as he finished.

Thalia stared at him, open-mouthed. “W-What?”

The tiefling sat back, breathing heavily and sweat ran down his face and horns as if he had seen a hundred battles. “I… I said I could see the future, somewhat.” He wiped the sweat from his brow. He bobbed his head from side to side, gathering the cards together. “And you were kind to me. You deserve to know.” He grimaced, as if holding back some greater emotion. His fingers trembled and the cards scattered in his lap. “What’s coming, it’s not pretty and you don’t even have a clue.”

Thalia bit back her questions so hard she tore her lip and the bitter taste of blood filled her mouth. She didn’t want to know. She had to get out, the incense and thick, mournful silence was getting to her. 

“Thank you,” she said instead, standing and almost knocking over a candle in her haste. She was almost at the door when she turned back. “What’s your name?”

Surprised by the question, he smiled. “Salsus. My name is Salsus. I wish you well... Thalia.”

Thalia stumbled out of the caravan and into the bright sunlight. Outside, the carnival continued to bustle onwards, the smell of spilt alcohol, roasted ox, and human stink assaulting her. Hundreds sang, shouted, screamed with laughter, and ran across the woods.

Caught in the storm, Thalia followed the crowd aimlessly.

She could still see the tiefling before her, his white eyes glazing over, his finger moving ever so slowly to trace the faint outlines of the coin card as he reported to her what he saw. Her heart fell even deeper and colder as every word left his mouth in the same emotionless voice, as if he were a hundred miles away.

She tried to tell herself he had been kidding. Being cruelly deceptive wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for a fiendish creature like him, especially kept in such imprisonment for a long time. She was a mere distraction, a temporary amusement, and her fears only fed into that. But even Thalia knew that she wasn’t. There was an honesty in the tiefling, a wordless understanding between them, and she knew he wasn’t lying. He had told her what he had seen, held back what he himself could not bear to speak.

Was it truly not over? Would it ever be over? Could the armoured figure ever let her go? It’s not as if he would simply stand still and wait for her to kill him. Of course, he had only tracked Gorion to get to her. Gorion had died for her. Imoen had died for her. And, soon, she would die, too. She was far from a home she would never return to — if that had even ever been her home, locked away from the world in safety, surrounded by her friends and family, who now were behind sealed gates or the veil of death.

Her breath came in short gasps. Thalia clutched the railing next to an animal pen and doubled over it. Her head rushed with oxygen, her nails digging into the rotting wood and splinters tore into the soft flesh. Her legs shook unsteadily, her mind filling with a buzzing white noise and the world spun around her. A small noise between a gasp and a yelp left her mouth that nearly turned into a sob. Her hands itched for the hilt of a sword. Where was Khalid when she needed something to attack?

“Lia!  _ Leee- _ ah!” a singsong voice came from her left. 

The familiar sound lifted her spirits and beat back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. Imoen and Viconia shuffled their way through the crowd, their arms overladen with patterned linen wraps that held their new purchases. 

“Are you alright?” asked Imoen, concerned. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Thalia shook her head, smoothing her brow and forcing a neutral expression. “I’m alright, did the Everskans have anything interesting?”

Imoen took the package off the top and handed it to Thalia with a bright smile on her face. Thalia pulled the string off it and unfolded the lumpy parcel. Under all the wrappings sat a small elven dagger in bronze and steel, tapered like a saber into a delicate point with the handle fashioned into a fierce bronze eagle and held in a leather sheathe. It slid out soundlessly, the blade reflecting the sunlight like molten gold. 

“It’s a returning throwing dagger,” said Imoen proudly. “Elvish and enchanted. See those markings?” She freed an arm to turn the blade in the light. When it shone against the grain, Thalia could make out the dozens of symbols and words in some elvish language along the blade’s edge. “Magic. When it hits your target, it will pop right back into your hand! Isn’t that neat? Now we don’t need to go about buying you a new bow.”

“And  _ how _ much exactly did it cost?” asked Thalia, giving Imoen a half-hug in thanks. Imoen huffed and dodged the question.

Imoen continued. “And Viconia found a ton of rare components and stuff.”

Viconia seemed to be in a particularly good mood. She was even almost smiling. “Many of the ingredients we cultivate were originally native plants of the elvish homeland,” she said, “but I would spill blood for some vastats. Regardless, I should be well supplied for the Red Wizard’s little venture.”

“Good, good.” Thalia’s eye caught the garish red banner of the tiefling fortune-teller’s caravan again and her stomach dropped.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” asked Imoen, squinting and trying to follow her eyeline.

Thalia nodded and swallowed her worries. “ ’Course. Let’s go see if Jaheira is up to to travel.”

“But we didn’t even check out the Amazing Exploding Ogre,” cried Imoen.

“We’re leaving,” said Thalia shortly. “Tonight, if we can.”


	9. Chapter 8: The Gnoll Stronghold

Although she didn’t understand why Thalia was so anxious to leave, Jaheira didn’t want to be the cause of them staying another day and insisted she could splint herself with her magic until her foot had fully knit to her leg. Edwin was nearly as anxious as Thalia, though he didn’t let his emotions be read quite so easily. His arrogant aloofness irritated the party, but it was harder to ignore the sinister glint in his eye.

They soon veered off the caravan-worn cobblestone roads, wandering deep down what was now familiar as part of the endless footpaths used by hunters and locals. A dirt space only a few inches across provided a sort of navigation through the woods, which all looked the same at this point. 

Thalia ducked another low-hanging branch, the twigs snapping in her face. They certainly all made a great deal of noise and even the silent Jaheira had difficulties staying so quiet now. The bush was too dense and overly green, and seemed to catch on every loose thread, snapping off in chainmail or pulling a string of cloth. Fir trees and leafless rotten logs added to the terrific musky smell of dirt and plants. Although she had begun to get used to it all, Thalia still hated the woods.

“Why don’t your robes rip?” called Imoen as she stumbled towards the back. “Edwin?”

The mage, who had been leading with Jaheira to where he believed his prey was, didn’t even bother looking back. “Do you truly believe a Red Wizard would let himself wander about in torn or dirty robes?” he said. “Idiot,” he added under his breath.

It was true. His robes were just as much a garish camouflaging nightmare as they had been the day he purchased them in Thay. Somehow, Thalia doubted he had even done that. Judging from what he had earlier called the “innate supremacy of wizards”, she wouldn’t be surprised if he had his own slave tailor.

“Dunno,” said Imoen in a voice far too cheerful for someone who trudged through ankle-deep cold sludge and whose face was covered in scratches. “Never met one before.”

The wizard let go a deep sigh of exasperation. “Now  _ there’s _ a surprise.” Had he been anyone else, Thalia would’ve smacked him upside the head. As they hadn’t run afoul of anyone or anything so far, his skills were still largely unknown.

Through the bush, they didn’t make it quite as far as she had hoped they would. The sun had soon fallen over the horizon, taking the sparse light with it, and they stumbled through the last layers of bush by magelight until they found a suitable clearing to camp.

Once the tents were set and a fire got going, Jaheira took Khalid and Imoen hunting for food. When the two of them looked at each other, Jaheira scowled and said if her leg stayed damp, it would creak and stiffen. A few curses and dim balls of sunlight for Imoen’s sake followed after them through the brush as Khalid attempted to calm her. Viconia left soon as well, moving to a more private clearing a few trees away with her bags, no doubt to make up for the prayers she missed at twilight.

Thalia sat on the damp earth before the fire and unbuckled the leather collar that protected her neck, coughing as she drew breath. Keeping a half eye on Edwin, who had begun to wander about the small clearing, she drank deeply from her waterskin.

“What’re you doing?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

He bent down and placed one finger on the ground, as if pointing to an insect. He sighed and began to speak in a gravelly monotonous tone, in some language Thalia could only guess as Thayvian.

“I’m talking to you.” Against the better judgment of her aching muscles, she stood and made her way over to him. She tensed, put off-kilter by the unexplained magic. 

His chanting took on an irritated note but he didn’t address her. A pale glowing thread left his finger and wobbled about like a thin worm.

“I asked you, what—?”

“I heard you the first time, you inconsiderate ape,” snapped Edwin, finally lifting his finger, the thread vanishing in a puff of smoke. He stood to face her, squaring his own smaller frame up to hers, his face a mask of impatient anger. “How your miserable troup managed to survive unaided in the wilderness is a mystery to me, as even your drowish cleric refuses to lay a basic ward, and when I attempt to offer assistance all I am met with is suspicion and questioning! Did it ever occur to you that you would not  _ understand  _ what I’m doing?” 

Thalia wiped his spittle off her face, wincing internally as she did. “ _ Nothing _ is going to attack us so close to town, not even a bear.”

Edwin rolled his eyes and said through gritted teeth, “Had you allowed me to complete my ward, we would not now have to deal with him.”

Thalia spun around, scanning the barren treeline. The campfire’s light didn’t extend very far, though, and all beyond was black. “With who?”

Cocking an eyebrow and a finger, he pointed upwards, slightly over her shoulder and clicked his fingers. As his loose sleeve rolled down, the intricate tattoos covering his skin were exposed further and one, which wove about his forearm in a band of symbols, began to glow. Anticipating the result, Thalia reached for her sword but before she could draw it, a branch overhead rotted and let out a powerful crack before falling with a crash behind her. With it, came an elf. 

“With him,” said Edwin dryly.

The assassin scrambled to his feet, favouring the leg he had fallen on. Short and slight with a belt of throwing knives and dressed in soft black cloth, he must’ve known he stood little chance out of the shadows and instead drew himself up to his full height.

“I’ve a message to convey,” he said without the slightest waver in his voice. “Your interference may have caused minor inconvenience but die knowing your actions have been futile.”

A dark smirk crossed the elf’s face. Before any could answer, he charged, a small sword in his hand. Thalia tensed her body into a defensive stance. When he stood only a few feet from her, he leapt, raising his blade. She raised hers and settled back on her haunches to spring a counter. 

But he never touched down. Instead, a flaming ball the size of his head slammed into his side and knocked him clean across camp. Only the broad side of a tree stopped him from careening off into the night. Dazed but woken violently by the pain, he yelped, thrashing as he tried to bat out the flames that feasted on his clothes and flesh.

Edwin frowned, then spoke another word and waved his arms wider, like a conductor before an orchestra, sending a command to the flames. The power was tightly controlled and contained as it roared past her. The flames leapt to obey, growing hotter and larger as they engulfed the poor elf and melted the flesh from his bones. When they vanished, all that was left was a charred skeleton with a few small pools of silvery molten metal that lay where his weapons had fallen.

Pleased with his work, the wizard knotted a bag of magic components to his belt and knelt on the ground again to prepare a series of wards.

It took Thalia quite a few tries to sheathe her sword, so hard her fingers trembled. The seasoned assassins who came after her with arcane spells gave off faint breezes or disturbances in the air, but Edwin was a tornado in comparison. 

Thalia marched from the clearing to where Viconia had disappeared to tend to her own spells. When she entered the smaller clearing, she knew Viconia had felt it. While her prayer circle had been set up and her book open to certain pages, she leant against a tree, deep in thought.

“What exactly did he do?” she asked quietly, her brow furrowed in concern.

“Knocked an assassin out of a tree and sent a fireball after him,” said Thalia.

Viconia’s expression of worry only deepened. “That display wouldn’t require but half what I felt. He was showing off, like as to me. I should not have lost my temper with him, that was… unwise. He is shrewd.”

She returned to her book and turned a page, deep in thought. Thalia shook her head, grinding her teeth together. “Anytime you want to continue sharing, I’m standing right here,” she said.

Viconia threw her book down and glared up at Thalia. “Whilst we were raising the skeletons for aid in the mines, I had to threaten him with disembowelment to assist, yet when he started it was an effortless exercise for him. Yet, he acted exhausted and drained to disguise his power. When we get to find this Dynaheir, you best kill her,” she warned. “Whatever ally she might be able to provide is not even in the same competition as to him. Regardless, a Red Wizard is not an enemy one wants to make.”

“You think he’s really a Red Wizard?” Thalia’s eyebrows shot up and a pang of Viconia’s concern entered her. “What could one be doing so far west?” The journey from Thay would have taken him months, perhaps over a year, even if he rode a mount to death, and through very treacherous and war-ravaged terrain.

Viconia shook her head at the questions. “Of his being a Red Wizard, I have no doubt that a Thayvian magician as he is one. If he is not, he is powerful and arrogant enough to carry the moniker. The order is secret and paranoid and could have infinite reasons for coming west. The incoming war between Amn and Baldur’s Gate, the iron crisis, an as-of-yet unforeseen disturbance in the Planes.”

Thalia looked back to the trees, where Edwin continued to lead the powdery thin thread of the ward around the camp. When he completed the round, the thread of the ward connected and shimmered briefly before stiffening and weaving into delicate symbols a few inches above the ground.

“While I do not understand how surfacers conduct partnerships, let me give you this piece of advice, for the sake of this group and my own life,” said Viconia seriously. “Do not trust him with yourself. Trust his power. Trust his loyalty, so long as this arrangement benefits him. The only true loyalty he has is to self-interest, then, perhaps to his order.”

“I know you said he was powerful but, how much? Could he truly destroy us?” asked Thalia, without taking her eyes off him.

Viconia thought for a moment, evaluating the wizard who sat before the fire, staring deeply into the flames. “Easily,” she said, her voice hollow. “A failed attempt at eliminating him would mean our deaths.”

“If he’s so powerful, why did he need to hire us?” asked Thalia. “He could’ve just incinerated the damn stronghold by himself.”

Viconia paused and made a face, clearly disliking the answer she had to give. “I do not know.”

**)*(**

A chill started Thalia from her sleep, though the night was warm and calm. But when she opened her eyes, a black nothingness embraced her. Panic threatened at the edge of her mind, but when light returned it was no matter of comfort.

Gentle flames of candles flickered the world back to life. Despite the light and familiar landscape, the world felt dark and cold, foreboding and unfamiliar in a way Thalia could not put a finger on. She was back in Candlekeep once more.

She stood on the gravel road before the door to the priest’s quarters. The new moon cast little light over the grounds, no different than the last time she had seen it. A guard wandered by with a torch, the familiar scroll-and-eye seal of Oghma on his cloak, but it did nothing to comfort her.

She turned back to the door before her and tried to push forward, but the doorknob was slippery with blood. When she finally shoved it open, the priest quarters were as she had left them. Rugs torn, pillows slashed, books defaced, priceless valuables smashed. In the center of it all, the assassin, curled into himself, still and dead. Broken glass and feathers held in his sticky, drying blood.

Before her eyes, the nameless assassin crawled to his feet. The door slammed behind her. His eyes were glazed and unseeing, his flesh bloated and pale. His body wobbled like a ragdoll, supported by some greater force. No breath or natural movement came from the standing corpse. Held from whatever afterlife claimed him, she knew he had been waiting for her all this time.

Before him hovered a rough-hewn dagger of parched bone, ready for a willing hand to drive it deep. The assassin bid it no attention, instead looking at Thalia, waiting for the inevitable, and knew no hope.

A rage bubbled within her as images of Gorion’s death whipped before her mind. She strode past the blade, which clattered harmlessly to the ground, and wrapped her fingers around his throat. She had to ensure this beast stayed dead, the first herald of Gorion’s death.

There was no anger, no hate in his eyes, only acceptance of his fate and a shade of relief. He filtered through her clenching fingers as pale smoke and left her grasping at air, as he whispered off to whatever afterlife he deserved. 

Candlekeep was peaceful once again.

Satisfied, she turned to leave but barring her exit was the parched bone dagger, risen from the floor, its point trained on her heart. One became five. Five bone white claws that forced her back against the far wall. When there was nowhere left to turn, the center talon pushed hard against her unprotected chest, puncturing the skin. Blood did not flow but a blackened ichor. Thalia was paralyzed with fear. She could do nothing but tremble before it.

_ Listen to what is bred in the bones _ . The voice echoed off the walls of the room and the walls of her mind but no one spoke the words. 

For emphasis, the other four daggers pressed gently into her, caressing like a long lost lover, before withdrawing. Gasping with relief, it was short-lived. One by one, the daggers shattered, their irregular shards still hovering before her. And then, slowly, they began to rearrange themselves. Before they even completed the sigil, she knew what it was. The bone mosaic of a smiling skull, surrounded by twelve drops of blood.

There was a flash of motion and the shards buried themselves in her chest.

Thalia awoke in an instant, gasping. She pawed at her chest, but there was no evidence of the assault. She sat up, rubbing her eyes and the last images of the dream from her mind. She bit her knuckle in an effort to keep back the unreasonable terror that shook her, but it was to little effect.

“Bad dreams?” a voice asked innocently.

The wizard sat cross-legged by the fire, his eyes locked on hers. A sinister smile stretched his lips. She returned his steady gaze but couldn’t gather together enough of her sensibilities to keep it.

Thalia rolled back to her bed and turned her back on him. He tuttered and she heard the swish of his robes on the grass as he walked closer until he stood above her.

“If you ever desire an answer, know it is  _ mine  _ to give,” he whispered.

Stunned, a million questions and what ifs spun in her mind, each bringing new waves of worry and driving the fear deeper. How could he  _ possibly _ know? Was it written on her forehead? Was it some curse and he magically detected it? Did he crawl into her dreams while she slept like an insidious demon? Did he know how much they tormented her and he wished to cruelly play with her mind?  What if there was some greater cause, though?

What if he was right?

Thalia refused to give him the pleasure of asking, so she closed her eyes and waited for sleep to take her from him.

**)*(**

When morning came, a large part of Thalia wished that when she opened her eyes, the wizard was gone. However, when she sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, he stood at the edge of the clearing with his arms crossed like a vile parasite. While the others went through the morning rituals of breakfast, small talk, and an inventory of their arms and armour, he stood in the shadows of the trees with a harsh glare and scowl as though the very sunlight offended him.

Jaheira had to ask Thalia three times if she was prepared before getting a distant grunt of agreement. Thalia was a million miles away, her eyes transfixed on the Red Wizard. She wondered if she had merely misheard or imagined their encounter last night. Perhaps it was part of the dream. But somehow, she doubted it.

Before the sun had risen fully, Jaheira smothered the fire and announced that it was time to leave. She estimated they would reach the gnoll stronghold by dusk, but that it would be best to let her, Viconia, and Khalid search in the dark, as the humans would likely get lost. While surface elves were still able to see quite well in low-light conditions — a characteristic shared somewhat with half-elves — millenia below ground had honed the dark vision of the drow.

“What actually  _ are _ gnolls?” asked Imoen a few minutes later.

“A tall warrior race built from lean muscle with some canine ancestry,” said Jaheira from the front.

“Vicious dogs on two legs with spears,” added Thalia.

“Yes, I suppose.” Even Thalia could hear the disgust in Jaheira’s voice. “Many tribes of gnolls make pacts with their god for magical power and are led by these warlocks.”

“Although they are little more than a nuisance, their cruelty is truly profound,” drawled Edwin as he lingered in the back. It was the first words he had said without being prodded since they had set off. “Gnollish warlocks perform some of the more barbaric rituals outside the civilized races, the Corruption of the Soul Consumed being an interesting one.”

Thalia hung her head and silently hoped Imoen wouldn’t ask but, of course, she did. “What’s that one about?”

“Captives are eaten alive by females,” said Edwin in an uninterested, factual voice, “who are then swiftly impregnated with the tormented souls of the dead and birth the half-demonic gnolls, all within the ceremony, who are set to fight to the death amongst themselves. The victor is then consumed by their mother-gnoll, the twice-tormented soul slain as newborn, to embody victory and defeat, innocence and corruption.”

Imoen tripped over a root and clung to Thalia. Turning to support her, she glared at the petty smugness on Edwin’s face. Imoen was drained of colour and she gave a muttered apology.

“That’s enough of this,” Jaheira called back. “Shut your mouth. We have no need of this rubbish. We are only fighting them, not debating the extent of their evil.”

“Perhaps you should only give orders to those beneath you, druid,” said the wizard waspishly. “Though even the trees would likely not take to being so rudely commanded.”

Thalia could hear Jaheira grind her teeth but she held back her anger.

“H-Hey,” said Imoen, pointing through the trees with a still-nervous hand. “Think we could check out the cave?”

Following her arm, Thalia saw the large vertical crack that ran up the mountainside, the area within dark and foreboding even in the bright sunlight. She smiled to herself. Imoen was probably seeing all sorts of treasures and riches within, perhaps all guarded by a dragon and it was exactly the sort of distraction she was looking for now.

Jaheira tossed it a cursory glance. “We might be adventurers, Imoen, but there is no need to disturb nature’s homes of bears and wolves,” she chided. “We’ve no need of their hides nor meat and I will not partake in hunting for sport.”

“Do wolves and bears normally leave quite so much blood around?” asked Imoen, a note of excitement entering her voice. Sure enough, just before the depths retreated into impenetrable darkness, thick layers of blood had dried on the cave floor, far more than any animal would leave behind with a kill.

“N-No,” said Khalid, meeting her eye with a fond smile. “They wouldn’t.”

Taking up her staff, Jaheira sighed and started to explain to them the monsters that would likely make such homes along the south-western Sword Coast, from the cunning little blue goblins known as xvarts, to magical winter wolves with a bite as cold as Icewind Dale, to large intelligent spiders who teleported around at will.

At this, Viconia had it. “If minions of the Spider Queen lay within,” she said bitterly, “I will send them to the Demonweb Pits myself.”

Their minds made up, the group pushed through the trees and came face to face with the darkness. Jaheira tossed a globe of sunlight within, throwing the cavern into stark relief. Instantly, Thalia knew this was no den of magical animals. It resembled Mulahey’s chambers, the bizarre collection of finery among the damp, dank cave walls. Frayed rugs sat at odd angles over the uneven floor, shelves filled with potions and jars containing strange floating things, a handful of books and loose bits of curled parchment, and an absolutely colossal four poster bed. An awful stench permeated the cave, a sickly sour that assaulted their noses, bringing a cough from Thalia.

“Is this—someone’s house?” asked Imoen, confused, torn between a desire for treasures and not exactly wanting to steal from a hermit.

Jaheira pushed the light deeper, revealing a scattered pile of bloody human bones at the end of the blood trail, most still having strips of flesh that had long since gone rancid.

“Probably,” sad Thalia, turning from the mess of the monster’s last meal, “but I’m pretty sure we’re going to kill them so you can take their stuff, Im.”

“Who disturbs me?” a powerful voice boomed from the deeper darkness. With footsteps that made the ground tremble, a broad creature, over ten feet tall, stepped into the light. Draped over his body were sheets of cloth, sewn together in a crude robe. His grey-blue skin hung in tough wrinkles, his head was squat and almost squared, his single eye narrowed in anger.

“That… does not appear to be a spider,” said Viconia flatly.

“An exiled ogre mage,” said Jaheira, not taking her eyes off the creature. Still, she barely blinked at the monster. “No great threat to cities, but still, better disposed of to protect the hunters of the area.”

The ogre’s beady eyes zeroed in on Jaheira. “ _ None _ will—”

Whatever none would do, however, they didn’t find out because at that moment there was a great crack and the taste of bitter acid in the air. A moment later, a trio of violently green arrows embedded themselves in the ogre’s chest. He howled in pain, his voice echoing off the stone walls. The arrows, slightly transparent and humming with magic, sizzled, dripping poison down the ogre’s front.

“Are we not going to kill it?” demanded Edwin. “Go on, attack! Shoo!”

The ogre lunged desperately, swiping a great fist at the group, who scattered. To her own horror, Thalia saw Imoen pushed deeper into the cave while Thalia herself and the rest backed out. Jaheira’s faint light cast deep, flickering shadows through the battle.

Drawing her sword, Thalia slashed at the ogre’s leg with a desperate cry but her blade was barely able to penetrate the thick hide. Imoen’s arrows only stuck in the outer layers, irritating more than hurting. He turned to face her, roaring in senseless rage, only to find more arrows fly at his open maw. A high pitched shriek of pain and panic.

“Imoen, run!” shouted Thalia desperately. She tried to run past the ogre but he stumbled at her, knocking his shelf over to prevent her advancement. The jars shattered as they hit the ground, scattering ingredients and noxious fluids over the ground.

But Imoen didn’t listen and continued slinging arrows. She found a handful of sensitive spots that brought the creature more distracting pain as the warriors battled it with slightly more success, dodging the ogre’s frenzied swipes.

The ogre mage had enough, however, and Thalia recognised the crude arm waving and nonsense words of spell-casting, its face screwed in a concentration that would not be disturbed.

“Back!” shouted Jaheira, leaping backwards herself. 

Khalid followed her movements deftly, but Thalia lingered a moment too long. Finishing with a resounding clap, the ogre cast its spell. A poisoned cloud of dense green fog wove around the ogre, choking the air and bringing tears to Thalia’s eyes. It burned her lungs, bringing her to her knees. Coughing, a confusing dizziness threatened to overwhelm her. Her chest seized as she struggled to draw breath.

Khalid pulled her back into the clear air of the cave’s entrance. Gasping, Thalia hacked out the last wisps of the poisonous gas from her lungs.

“Im-Imoen?” she rasped, as she realised the girl wasn’t among them. She wiped the tears off her face and struggled to her feet.

“Get out of there, child!” shouted Jaheira. She knelt to the ground and fished for a spell component.

Thalia raised her blurry vision to the cave. The ogre waved its massive arms again, preparing a second spell, eye shut in concentration. The green fog still grew, however, threatening to swallow the cave. Already, it had grown taller than most men and crawled up the cave walls. Imoen dropped her bow and scurried up the remaining bookshelves to get above it.

Khalid only just managed to hold Thalia back from running head-first into the poisonous gas again. She took up her new throwing dagger but it bounced off the ogre’s tough hide and clattered harmlessly to the ground before flying back to her clammy hand. 

“Imoen!” she shouted again. She didn’t dare think of what might happen if she didn’t get out. Visions passed of Imoen in the mine, choking on her own blood.

Imoen stood on the top of the tallest remaining bookshelf, somewhat unsteadily. She tossed a scared smile to the rest of them and Thalia spotted the flaming dagger in her hand. She gave a shrill battle cry and leapt from the bookshelf, arms outstretched. The ogre stumbled, losing the spell it was working on, as it suddenly found the girl splayed across its shoulders. Imoen struggled to find a better position but worked fast and by some manner of luck and skill, she thrust the magical dagger into the beast’s only eye, driving it to the hilt.

A horrifying shriek echoed as it was blinded, thrashing desperately as blood streamed down its face and robes. Imoen dropped to the ground and fell to the darker depths of the cave to escape the stumbling and dying ogre. After a great deal of blind bumbling that knocked over most of the furniture and the rest of the bookshelves, the ogre collapsed at last, Imoen’s dagger still sticking from the bloody mess that was its eye. 

Inching forwards warily, Jaheira scattered lights through the darkened cave, revealing the lower storage area, where Imoen hid with a huge grin on her face, her eyes wide and shining.

“Didja see what I did?” she gushed, leaping up and running back to the nearly dead ogre. The hilt was slick with blood and she redoubled her grip, managing to yank it free at last. Imoen laughed, taking a dramatic stance and stabbing thin air with great flourish. “I just went —  _ hoha! _ — and then the ogre just went —  _ argh! _ — and then all the blood went everywhere and — hey, what’re you doing? Yeah, you, wizard man! Edwin!”

Edwin shifted through the scattered books on the floor, tearing out certain pages and sliding them in his own spellbook. His head whipped up at the sound of his name and he sneered. “Merely taking that which none of  _ you _ will miss,” he said. “Oh, I’ve noticed that stolen spelltome you cart around with you, little rogue. You think  _ your _ mind will ever be able to comprehend arcane mysteries or, much more likely, turn to mush at the first sight of the Abyss?” he challenged.

Imoen’s smile hardened somewhat. “I just want to learn  _ Burning Hands _ ,” she said innocently enough, shoving past him to dig through the remainder of the ogre mage’s treasure. 

She was eventually able to wear Edwin down and he translated a few of the less-stained books with a spell and roll of his eyes. But it wasn’t for free, he warned. When Thalia saw his eyes gleam, she feared the worst and was about to make any such deal between him and Imoen null and void, but all he wanted was the wand. He claimed it to be a Wand of Summoning, left on a high plaque by the ogre. The walnut wand was about a foot long, tipped with a shimmering sapphire and carved with gasping, gaping mouths of what were surely demons or other foul spirits. Even Imoen, who so looked forward to looting and shiny magical items, grimaced at it and practically threw it at him.

With the ogre mage and its home sufficiently destroyed, they returned to the thin hunter’s path that wove through the bush. Imoen returned to her usual cheery self, recounting her slaying of the ogre mage in great gory detail before attempting to compose a very poorly rhyming song about the battle. It would be the first one in the songbook  _ The Adventures of Imoen the Magnificent (and Friends), Vol.1 _ .

As they clawed their way through the bush of the woods, it started to thin beneath their feet. The rugs of wet leaves and logs let up. Even the brambles became less dense and they were able to move through the forest in relative freedom. Sunlight came through the trees in weak splatters then hearty streams as the forest gave way almost entirely, to be replaced by a rugged moor and spring wildflowers of as the sun hung low in the sky.

Imoen winced as the fortress came into sight over the next hill. A bloodied white flag flew from the towers of grey brick. It was an abandoned stronghold, full of crumbling walls and battlements, but they could even see in the dim twilight from over a hill away that it was very heavily populated by the canine gnolls.

“You said she was last seen around t-t-the stronghold?” asked Khalid, not taking his eyes off the furry beasts.

Edwin smirked at his stutter but gave a short nod. “She shouldn’t have gotten too far now.”

Drawing weapons, the elves left the humans to prepare camp on the edge of the wood as they wandered out to search for Dynaheir and scout the castle. Tripping over his incantations, the wizard spent quite a bit longer warding the camp than he had the night before and Thalia couldn’t suppress her satisfaction that the proximity of the gnoll stronghold unnerved him.  

Imoen sat on the ground, her knees pulled up to her chin as she stared into the fire, her boots tapping as she thought. Thalia knew what she was thinking. It was the same thing on her mind. Was Dynaheir truly deserving of the bounty? Would any of them right now kill her this night? While Bassilus had terrorized a town and risen a zombie army, all they had to go on now was the word of a strange Red Wizard who was none too trustworthy himself. Worse, even, if they did spare her life, did any of them have a true chance against Edwin if they provoked him?

The silent minutes dragged on into hours and the twilight deepened into a suffocating blackness, marred only by the fires lit by the gnolls in their stolen castle. Still, there was no sign of the elves. Thalia couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. If they had killed Dynaheir when she wasn’t with them, it would hardly make her guilty in this wrongful execution.

Edwin sat on a log, his elbows lent on his knees and fingers steepled as he stared into the fire, his eyes blank and his mind deep in thought.

A thought occurred to Thalia suddenly. “Why aren’t you preparing your spells for the next day?”

Edwin took a moment to tear his gaze from the flames, then fixed her with an irritated look. “I  _ am _ .”

“Did you make a pact for power?” Thalia remembered many powerful Thayvian magicians sought such partnerships to ease their journeys into unlimited power. At least in the stories. Normally, some brave adventurer cut them down shortly thereafter.

“I am no mere warlock or sorcerer,” he snapped, insulted by the insinuation. “I am a wizard and everything I am is born from my own vast talent. Have you even ever seen a wizard prepare spells?”

Imoen lifted her head from her knees, interested. “No.”

Edwin turned his glare towards her. He sighed and ran a hand over his bald head before relenting and rattling off his explanations in his own proud anger. “To complete a spell is to complete a complex series of mental and Planal acrobatics, to tune into the laws of the universe and command them to my will. Only after completing the majority of the routine and attuning physical components to the spell can I rest. Then, in combat, I need only to complete the last trigger of the spell and it is released. As for now, I require  _ peace  _ and  _ quiet _ .” To make his point, he stood, muttering darkly to himself, and was about to storm back into the woods, but he spotted something.

“Finally,” he snarled.

Thalia followed his eye. Over a small hill, the three elves had returned. When she saw the bloodied blades, her heart leapt to her throat, but the fur on Khalid’s confirmed it was gnolls.

“We cannot wait until first light,” declared Jaheira. “Gnolls see but nearly as well as elves in the darkness and will discover their fallen soon. We might be able to take the rest of them by surprise, however, if we move quickly.”

Edwin muttered darkly about having to do everything himself as he fitted a bolt into his crossbow, but still followed the elves’ lead. They climbed the path up the rocky slopes to the castle quickly as they dared, but every stone tumbling down the path was an avalanche, every long shadow under the moon was a monstrous gnoll come to devour them. Thalia redoubled her grip on her sword and carried on, only slightly unnerved.

The gnolls the elves had killed were strewn about the crumbling steps. They were even more hideous than the drawings in bestiaries depicted: twelve feet tall and powerfully built with a large hump on their back and little neck, but with the long claws and snarled muzzle of a hound, and the scraggly pelt of an animal been through hardship. Even though they were recently dead, they still reeked of rotting flesh. Thalia remembered the gruesome ritual Edwin had so gleefully brought up and cursed him. In the dark of night and with the smell of wet dog in her nostrils, it was suddenly a lot more intimidating.

As they got closer, gruff snarls and grunts wafted over the high walls. The sounds of crackling fires and many padded footsteps followed. The group crowded against the wall. A few steps forward a cracked hole from which the light of the gnolls’ fire flooded onto the stone. From within, a crude drumbeat started, punctured by canine yelps and howls and a rhythmic thumping. Privately, Thalia didn’t think much of Dynaheir’s survival right now.

“Gnolls are n-not archers,” whispered Khalid, “but they are fierce in close c-combat. Keeping them at a distance will be k-key. On my signal.”

Viconia and Thalia both took up their throwing daggers as Khalid and Imoen notched their arrows. Thalia’s stomach tightened in anticipation. Three. Jaheira began to prepare a druidic spell. Two. Thalia tensed to spring forward. One.

They stepped out into the light and but a few arrows and daggers were released before the great company of gnolls realised where their attackers were. For a moment, Thalia was paralyzed. A roaring bonfire sat in the middle of the courtyard, logs piled high until it nearly was taller than the walls. Dozens of heavily armored gnoll warriors rapped the butt of their rusty halberds on the ground in time to the drumbeat. A handful of robed gnolls yelped in a constant stream, waving their arms as though fending off a swarm of invisible bees. 

Khalid made short work of the unarmored gnolls with his arrows. But the warriors charged, their claws scraping the stone as they ran on all fours. A few moments later, Jaheira stopped chanting and ghostly tendrils of green light sprung from the cracks in the stonework, wrapping about the gnolls’ ankles and holding them fast. Some of them tried to push forward but the vines refused to release them. The harder they pulled, the tighter they were constricted. Howling in frustration, their claws and blades were not enough to rip apart the magical plants.

Victory in sight, they made short work of the defenceless gnolls. Even as the spell began to wane in power and some of the vines snapped and withered, there were few enough beasts that they were still taken care of at distance. When the vines fully receded back into the ground, all the gnolls were dead.

“That… has gone better than I thought it would,” said Jaheira, frowning.

“Yeah,” said Imoen, disappointed, scuffing the dusty ground with her boot. “I thought they’d put up more of a fight.”

As if to answer, a pained howl pierced the night and sent a chill of dread down her spine. A moment later, she heard the pounding of many paws on stone.

“It appears that was not the whole of the clan,” said Viconia, backing behind the wall again.

Gnolls appeared on top of the battlements and the walls, charging down the stairs to meet them all in the courtyard, snarling and shouting in mangled Common. Thalia unsheathed her sword unsteadily and pushed a trembling Imoen behind her. Gnolls leapt into the courtyard, charging on all fours. Long ropes of saliva whipped across their faces. She could see the eyes of those nearest, wild and filled with murderous frenzy. 

But amongst this, Thalia felt a heat behind her that gathered into a scorching wave. She tore her eyes off the gnolls and looked back at Edwin. His hands were filled with white light, his eyes closed in concentration. Remembering the fireball, Thalia dragged Imoen to the ground.

“Get down!” she shouted, and the others ducked.

Taking his cue admirably, Edwin released the spell with the incantation and threw the ball of brilliant white light at the leading gnoll. It struck him in the forehead and he collapsed. Spreading like a plague, the spell wove its way through the gnollish reinforcements, until they all collapsed, face-first to the ground. Some fell down the stairs, others from the top of the battlements. But, to Thalia’s amazement, they weren’t dead. Their chests rose and fell with their breathing, their faces were calm and completely devoid of malice. In fact, they almost looked like house dogs, if very ugly house dogs.

Silence fell heavily as they stared in surprise. All that could be heard was the gentle breathing and occasional snore of the gnolls.

“What are you fools waiting for?” demanded Edwin. “I was under the impression this was a company of warriors.” Talking to himself again as he was want to do, he took another component from his belt and spoke an incantation. A trio of pink magical bolts orbited from his shoulder to fingertip, before striking the nearest three slumbering gnolls, who gave a yelp before dying in their sleep.

Scrambling upright and grabbing their weapons, the company of warriors slew the sleeping gnolls easily, their weapons reaching neither resistance nor tension. Gradually some began to wake up from the clatter of weapons as their fellows died. The first gnoll to awaken lashed out at Khalid, who fell back in shock and pain. Jaheira screamed reflexively.

Khalid, however, was in a terrible state. The claws had dug long dents in his armor and torn the soft flesh of his neck. His helmet was perhaps the only thing to have saved his life from being taken outright, but even that seemed to be coming to a swift end. Blood poured helplessly as he gasped. Abandoning the gnolls’ corpses, Jaheira fell to her knees and held him close. They shared a few brief moments of a smile before Khalid choked and finished bleeding out. Her smile stiffened and Jaheira undid the leather straps of his helmet, sliding it from his head to stroke his hair.

Imoen buried her head in Thalia’s shoulder, shaking. She held Imoen tight, cold in her shock. Khalid and Jaheira had taken so many other adventures against far more dangerous beasts than gnolls — how could he meet his death so suddenly?

Jaheira lay her husband back on the ground, out of the way, then looked almost motherly as she saw Imoen’s distress. “Oh, it’s alright,” she said. “This will not have been the first nor last time he’s died, though it may well be the cleanest.” She turned Khalid’s head back and forth. “No organs have been destroyed, no limbs removed, just a few clean slices across the neck.” She almost sounded pleased. “With such a wonderful priest back in Nashkel, I say we save our sorrows for the witch.”

Imoen looked up hopefully, still clinging to Thalia. “S-So, he’s not gone?”

Jaheira smiled. “What do you think adventurers spend all those treasure hoards on?”

Imoen let out a wet chuckle and dried her eyes. Thalia laughed in disbelief, looking at the bloody and lifeless body of Khalid. She hoped it was true but Jaheira’s certainty was of great comfort. Perhaps when they were back at Nashkel, this would all be a funny story and they could catch Khalid up on what had happened. 

With their grief suspended, they began to explore the ruins. Scattered around were a great deal of questionable magical components that even Edwin turned his nose at, as well as stores of brittle weaponry, dried and roasted meats of unknown origins, and some semblance of honorific sculptures the gnolls probably considered “art”. A few prisoners had been dead for several days, their bodies beginning to succumb to the elements and already somewhat magically mangled by the gnolls. Yet all of them were men.

“Here!” shouted Jaheira.

Thalia left the tower she had scoured with Imoen. Jaheira looked down into a wide, dry well. The girls rushed back down to the courtyard. Viconia grew a small ball of faerie fire, which drifted down to illuminate the darkness. At the bottom was an unconscious woman in long purple robes. The light seemed to rouse her and when she saw the human and elven faces, she stumbled to her feet, squinting past the light. 

“Hello?” she called in a deep harmonious voice that echoed off the walls. Though Thalia didn’t want to think of what the gnolls had planned for her, she was still so relieved they had found her intact she forgot their purpose in coming here.

“Have no fear, we will get you out,” Jaheira called back with a smile. She rushed back to the campsite, returning shortly with a length of rope.

Imoen tugged gently on Thalia’s armor. Following her gaze, Thalia saw the victorious smirk and the shine in his eyes, how they reflected the bonfire’s light, and she felt all her relief vanish in an instant of fear for Dynaheir’s life. Viconia stood in the shadows and watched from a distance away, wary of what decisions they might make in the coming minutes.

Jaheira had returned with a rope and cast it down the well. After a few failed starts, she managed to pull Dynaheir to the surface with Thalia’s assistance. Dynaheir was a young human mage, her curly black hair having grown ungainly and slimey, her simple purple traveling robes torn and stained, her dark brown skin heavily bruised, and her nails ripped and bloody. Thalia grimaced at the thought of how long she must’ve been trapped down there, kept alive by those beasts. Dynaheir was not many years older than Thalia or Imoen, but there was something in the gentleness in her face and the calm in her voice that spoke of age and wisdom.

She smiled gratefully and clung to Jaheira to stand. “Thank… you,” she said in a halting, thick accent. Though not Thayvian, she was still most certainly eastern, her accent softer and warmer than Edwin’s. “Your assistance is much appreciated. That was truly a dastardly fate you have saved me from.” 

She raised her glance and locked eyes with Edwin. By the flickering light of the roaring bonfire, he had let down his hood, the light dancing over the magical tattoos that marked him as a Red Wizard. There was a moment of confusion, then a flicker of uncertain fear, and Dynaheir let go of Jaheira to grip the barrel of the well for strength. His smirk widened as he drank in her fear.

“I-I see bravery is not all that motivates you,” she said, a note of panic creeping in her voice. “Am I to be rescued from one death to be delivered to another?”

Jaheira put a hand on her shoulder and stood between the two mages. “No,” she said stonily. “Absolutely not.”

Edwin’s confidence shattered and he advanced on the women. “We had a deal, wretch!”

Dynaheir turned to the others with a pained look. “I assure you,” she said. “I make far better friend than enemy.”

Edwin’s hand went to his belt of spell components instinctively. “As do I!” he snarled. He dropped one to the ground with a whispered stream of commands. The pouch burst into searing white flames, devouring itself into ash.

“No!” shouted Thalia, taking a step forward.

At once, rolls of malevolent, creeping magic overpowered them. Thalia’s muscles and bones stiffened unbearably. She stood helpless and unmoving as a stone statue. A vulnerable fear came over her and, had she control of her body, it would surely be trembling. Through great effort, she opened her eyes, her heart fluttering like a caged bird. Her lungs strained for breath against the iron that held her in place. The others were in a similar state, their frozen faces betraying their last emotion before the spell had taken hold.

Edwin took in their helplessness with a mocking shake of his head. He stepped uncomfortably close to her and she could feel his breath on her. “It is a great shame you insist on being quite this stupid,” he whispered with remorse. 

A million spells and ways he could stop her heart ran through her mind. He had so easily won before the fight began and held them all in the palm of his hand. He could simply take the dagger from her own belt and slit her throat. The silent, instant spells he could cast from his tattoos, seemingly without end, only increased her heart rate. She begged with her eyes, straining against the stiffness of her body.

He averted her eyes, his brow furrowed in thought. He stepped back to inspect the other statues. As he turned from her, she felt the spell crack. A cool numbness trickled down the back of her neck, spreading through her limbs and breathing feeling into them. Her chest labored under shallow breaths, her knees buckled, her hands clenched into fists.

His eyes flicked over her, an echo of excitement in his private smile.

The expression only served her fear. The cool numbness turned icy in a flash and she fell, as a marionette cut from its strings, into an unceremonial heap at his feet. Her legs quivered as the spell held on with its last breath.

“Impressive,” he muttered to himself. “And here I thought such enchantments might only be resisted by full-blood—” He stopped suddenly, a realisation dawning.

Elves.

There was a small whistle of a short blade pulled from its sheath. Viconia peeled herself from the shadows and from the brief look of surprise and distress that came over him, she had pressed the sword point into his back. Thalia grinned as she saw the drow’s calm, smooth face, still half in darkness.

Edwin’s concentration wavered in his well-disguised fear. The others twitched and moved, jittery at first, as the spell wore off. Imoen was the next to fall, with a small shriek of fear, then Jaheira and Dynaheir righted themselves.

“Enemies need not be made tonight,” said Viconia to the wizard, taking her blade from him and moving between him and Jaheira’s staff. “I know the witch cannot truly mean so much to you that you would throw away your own life.”

“Enemies were made long before your time, drow,” said Dynaheir, her fear replaced by a wary pride. Turning back to Jaheira, she continued, “If you might bare my company, I will be a fearsome opponent to any such servant of Thay that might follow him.”

“What, pray tell, you were about to do as I had rendered you all immobile?” said the wizard scathingly.

Viconia locked eyes with Thalia, reminding her of the similar conversation they had shared about Edwin’s formidable power, and she thought the elf would rather they kill Dynaheir where she stood. 

“Of course, you are welcome to join us, Dynaheir,” said Jaheira, as though he hadn’t spoken. “Another companion to share the weary road is always welcome.” Imoen nodded and Dynaheir breathed a sigh of relief.

“Idiots! You do not know what you’re asking! I cannot have this witch poison you with her lies,” snapped Edwin, shoving Viconia to the ground. “If you insist upon her, then I will continue with you.”

His proposal was met with tense silence as all looked to one another to make a decision as to who would tell Edwin “no”, especially after that last spell had brought them so close to their own demise.

“Better an enemy in the open than one in the bushes,” said Viconia shrewdly, picking herself off the dusty, bloodstained ground.

Edwin fixed her with a cold look but, deciding that was the most positive answer he would get, said, “Glad that has been settled. I shall return to camp, then.” And he left the gnoll stronghold.

“That could have gone better,” said Jaheira uneasily.

“Would you rather have him skulking on the outskirts and wait for an opportunity to strike or travel with us and let us keep an eye on him?” said Viconia, raising an eyebrow. “This benefits us far more than it does him. All we can do now is hope he does not realise it.” 

“I would rather the Red Wizard be dead,” said Jaheira, rounding on Viconia. “You already had the chance to do it!”

Viconia stiffened, squaring her shoulders. “I have won us a powerful ally in battle, one who has acquiesced to your sole request.”

“One who would kill us in our sleep had he the opportunity,” warned Dynaheir. “Thayvians are not a sort to take as traveling companions.”

“So long as none of you are truly as stupid as he believes,” said Viconia harshly, “he will continue to act in our interests, which is good enough for I.” And she followed Edwin down the path to return to the camp. 

Not far behind her, Jaheira swore to Dynaheir they would protect her as best as they were able. Jaheira carried the fallen body of her husband and Thalia helped Dynaheir as they made their way down the hill again. From the distance, Thalia could already see the red robes sit by the fire and she had a terrible feeling he would become an even more unpleasant intrusion and they would all sleep with one eye open.


	10. Chapter 9: The Nature of Men and Elves

The return trip to Nashkel was a tedious one, as they now had to escort the fallen Khalid and Dynaheir, who had still not recovered her strength. Not to mention keeping a watchful eye on Edwin, who had erased all the goodwill he had gained in the mines and seemed entirely oblivious to it. Viconia, as a full-blood elf, was the most likely to resist hostile magic spells and also required very little rest at night, letting her watch him in the nights. So far, though, he had done nothing suspicious and had, in fact, not said a word even when they returned to Nashkel.

Berrun Ghastkill was surprised but impressed when Jaheira relayed the story of the gnoll stronghold and he guided the other prisoners to the temple. Khalid's waxy body horrified the elderly priest, who fretted endlessly about his altar to Chauntea as he fetched the local cleric of the Shadow to assist. After well over an hour's work, Khalid's eyes flickered open and he took a deep breath of air, coughing on it.

"He'll be fine," announced the priest, wiping his brow. "Give him a few days of bedrest and he'll be fit to travel."

"Thank you, Father," said Jaheira, taking Khalid's hand and helping him to his feet.

Imoen threw her arms around his neck and he accepted the hug weakly. The newly reunited party caught him up on their encounter with Edwin and introduced him to Dynaheir, his "evil witch" who respectfully waited for them outside. But their conversation was shortly interrupted by the shouting of an abnormally large man.

"Dynaheir!" he roared, distraught.

He was heavily built and towered a few heads taller than any other man Thalia had ever seen. His head was shaven bald but, rather than Edwin's myriad of tattoos, a curling design of purple warpaint decorated over the right side. A heavy bow bounced against his scaled leather armor and the greatsword on his back, making an ungodly racket as he ran.

"Oh Boo," he cried, "but who are these knaves that stand so close? If they are the ones who has kidnapped you, Minsc will bash their skulls together!" He raised his sword threateningly, causing all in earshot to back away none too slowly, except Dynaheir, who stood between them and the warrior.

Berrun sighed in exasperation. "Get a grip on yourself, man!" he exclaimed. "These heroes were the ones who saved the mine  _and_ the town  _and_ , indeed, yes, your beloved Dynaheir as well."

Minsc cast his eyes towards Dynaheir. "Are these words true?" her asked in all manner of seriousness.

"Stand easy," she said, reaching a hand to touch his arm. "It is true."

Minsc's helpless rage turned inwards and he fell to his knees, his sword outstretched. "Then Minsc is truly shamed," he said, heartbroken. "I couldn't prevent your capture and your saviours were strangers. I present mine head for the taking."

Dynaheir stroked his head gently. "Now, there is no need for this," she said in a mothering voice. "This thick head is best left where is it, regardless how little it is used. You shall continue to accompany me as ordained. No doubt our new friends would welcome a warrior of such… perseverance?" She looked to the rest of the group, her eyes lingering on Edwin with a touch of smugness, for even he had backed away from the threat of Minsc's display.

"A-A-Absolutely," said Khalid.

"Perhaps if we were not such strangers, you would feel better of this arrangement?" asked Jaheira.

Minsc nodded slowly and they made their way to the tavern. Through many bottles of wine and ale, proper introductions were made and they slowly roped the story out of the unusual duo. They were both of Rashemen, a far-east country neighbouring (and warring) with Thay. Dynaheir was apprenticed to their own governing body of mystics, the Hathran, while Minsc was a novice in the order meant to protect the witches, and they had both been sent out on a "dejemma", a spiritual journey to discover themselves and their purposes. Until they had gotten to the Sword Coast, all had been fine. Minsc assured them he had many grand tales to tell them later on. But, on the border, they had run afoul of a great many bandits and while Minsc had managed to valiantly slay all, he had also sustained a brutal head wound.

"Dynaheir," Minsc finally interrupted. "I swear, I am fine. See, no dent in Minsc's skull!" He pointed to a place that, while surely not quite dented, was raised and puckered with heavy, pink scar tissue.

Dynaheir sighed and continued, "We patched him up as best we could and have been resting in Nashkel for quite some time, but too much time has passed and I fear none but the greatest of healers might help him. I had been gathering medicinal plants outside of Nashkel for their priest when the gnolls seized me and dragged me to their stronghold." She shivered delicately and continued in a hard voice. "They spoke of requiring more mages for a ritual, of sorts. Of  _what_  sorts, I do not know."

Minsc slammed his fist on the table, making their mugs rattle. He cursed in Rashemi. "Had Minsc only been there, those beasts would have felt the imprint of his boot on their backsides for touching sweet Dynaheir," he said. His anger gave way to distress again and he sighed, shaking slightly. "I have been here for… for twenty-four days, now, but no word, no rumour of what might have taken her. Minsc looked everywhere but… nothing," he ended in a whisper.

Dynaheir patted his overlarge hand. "Most of all, I do regret leaving you to deal with this trauma," she said. Something occurred to her and she bit her lip, unsure. Turning to the rest, she added, "I also must warn you of some… lingering effects of such a violent wound."

At this, Minsc cheered up. He rolled his eyes and chuckled, first a small, wet noise but then a booming enchanting laugh. When not brandishing weapons at them, Thalia had to admit she liked the man. He was loud and excitable, and had a square, hard face that would have been threatening for not his honest eyes.

"Why must you always speak so poorly of Boo?" asked Minsc. "Minsc thought you might be proud he found his familiar at last!"

Dynaheir reddened delicately. "Minsc is a ranger, trained—"

"Oh, let me tell the story!" he interrupted again, tapping his mug of ale on the table. Dynaheir conceded and grimaced. "All rangers are taught the noble path of being a warrior of the lands — no matter what lands they are, which is why we dejemma through them all! Eventually, when Mielikki, the great Goddess of Nature, sees a ranger as worthy, he will find his woodland companion. And Minsc has found his!" He beamed, positively thrilled with himself. Dynaheir was less so.

"Indeed, it is a mark of great maturity and mastery over one's art," she allowed. "Most such rangers find a powerful hawk or perhaps a direwolf or bear with whom they bond and develop a balance, working in martial and magical tandem."

"Minsc has Boo!"

"And Minsc has… Boo."

Minsc wore a special leather pouch across his chest and, from it, extracted a small furry creature with a soft blonde pelt. "He has told me his name be 'Boo', but Dynaheir says it a silly name." He tutted, as if he couldn't believe Dynaheir's own silliness. "Say hello to Boo." Minsc lovingly stroked the small creature with a giant finger.

Jaheira looked at the creature closely. "Is that—?"

"A noble hamster!" proclaimed Minsc.

Dynaheir groaned and put her head in her hands. She, clearly, believed Boo to be a side-effect of Minsc's head wound, rather than a proper ranger's companion. Privately, Thalia would have to agree. All knew of Drizzt, possibly the greatest ranger of all time, and his animal companion, a great black panther named Guinevar. A hamster didn't seem nearly as useful in battle as a panther.

Looking up, Dynaheir pursed her lips. Following her sight, the rest of the group, save Minsc, who was spellbound by the rodent and now feeding him peanuts, saw the swish of red cloak through the window.

"I cannot impress upon you the seriousness of what I say," said Dynaheir in a low voice. "As we say in Rashemen, 'a wolf is always a wolf' and there is naught you may trust of him."

Jaheira waved the concerns away and chuckled. "Pfeh. Between us all and Minsc here and Viconia resisting his magics, he wouldn't dare harm you. Eventually, he will grow tired of following at a distance and leave."

Dynaheir seemed unconvinced. "Did he say why he is here? If it were solely mine death he sought, it would already be his." She met their eyes each in turn and they all shook their heads. Thalia swallowed uneasily when Dynaheir's serious brown eyes lingered on hers. "Red Wizards are a nefarious, scheming bunch and there is no doubt he has a plan in mind," said Dynaheir. "An inked Red Wizard is valuable to their order and I have never seen one of their number without an assortment of heavily armored bodyguards. I suggest we abandon him, lest they return to his side."

Jaheira paused at that, brow furrowed, and Thalia thought she didn't know of a Red Wizard's bodyguards anymore than Thalia herself did.

"Minsc doesn't understand why you don't let him cleave his evil flesh from his evil bones," he said mildly, still stroking the hamster. "Boo says he smells Thayvian. See? His whiskers quiver in rage at the evil so nearby."

"Do you suggest we simply tell him he is no longer welcome and continue the fight we near started in the stronghold?" drawled Viconia with a humourless smile. "I may be apart from House and Queen, but I will not give my death so freely."

"I-It's not like he was ever welcome," said Khalid with a fair look.

Viconia stood and scoffed. "Well, I am sure none of your noble hearts will cut down a defenceless ally in the night — which is the only manner which we may be rid of him — and none of you are fools enough to think we might so surely win an open battle. Since conversation has turned sour, I believe I will retire. It was a pleasure," she added to the Rashemi. Dynaheir nodded back at her.

"Anyways, I wanna hear some of these adventuring tales across the realms," said Imoen, draining the last of the wine. "Did you meet any dragons? Or—or maybe basilisks?"

Looking distrustfully at Viconia's back, Dynaheir sighed and returned to conversation. "We did pass through Giant's Run Mountains," she said, "which are home to the cities of gold dwarves who battle the denizens of the Underdark on many raids into their caverns. Though, still, they live in fear of Behr Shimmer, the emerald dragon who nests in the peaks. I tried to assure them that such dragons have no great concern for mortals, but when such a powerful beast flies over your children it is difficult to have sense."

"Did you slay it?" asked Imoen, wide eyed.

Minsc laughed heartily. "He was causing no more harm than a den of wolves. Most dragons are just misunderstood, right, Boo?" The hamster let out a squeak of agreement.

Thalia and Imoen looked at each other and barely held back their laughter.

**)*(**

There was still plenty of time before Tranzig was set to be at Feldepost's Inn at Beregost and both Khalid and Dynaheir could use the extra few days' rest before setting off. His regained the colour in his face, with only some vague stiffness in his neck to be sign he had died earlier. Dynaheir slowly returned to her normal self and the difference several baths and a new set of robes made was startling.

The others didn't mind the delay and in fact welcomed the well-earned rest. As Minsc had promised, he could write a veritable songbook about their exploits across the realms the last year or two, many of them involving valiant quests and slaying of great beasts or extolling the wisdom and caution of his witch. The town of Nashkel also returned to normal activities, as the miners braved their daily work and iron began to flow again. The town's spirits picked up and the carnival on the outskirts grew ever more lively.

Thalia saw little of the wizard, though her sleep was no more restful. The days might have grown far more cheery but her nights were still plagued with oddly vivid dreams, detailing the common lives of workaday people from far off lands and haunted by a smiling skull. They left a sour taste in her mouth and left her restless throughout the night.

Every now and then, she would catch sight of the wizard about the town and her stomach would plummet, sure that this would be the day he retaliated. But that day never came. Despite being apart several days, the morning they decided to leave Nashkel and return to Beregost, he appeared again, waiting outside the inn.

"Stand clear," proclaimed Minsc, "so that mine hamster might have a better look at you!" Hearing the summons, Boo crawled from pouch onto Minsc's shoulder and sniffed the wizard.

Staring at the creature with distaste, Edwin sneered. "If you do not wish to be the owner of a very small rug, I suggest you keep the beast to yourself."

Minsc gasped at the threat and Boo scurried back to safety with a panicked squeak. "You have very poor manners," he said, and marched along past him.

Unfazed by the universal dislike that followed him, Edwin kept a good ten paces behind the group and, were it not for the occasional spells that flew from the back when bandits accosted them, Thalia wouldn't have noticed he was there, which was just fine with her.

Imoen attempted to interrogate Dynaheir about learning magic, but she had trouble getting a word in edgewise. It was quickly made clear why the Red Wizard had stayed his distance in Nashkel.

"It is not as simple as reading a scroll aloud again and again," Dynaheir chastised Imoen, who rolled her eyes at the lecture. "It requires many years of hard study, knowledge of the self, and learning under a mistress. I myself was promised to the Hathran before I could walk —"

"Not that it's done any godsdamned good," said Edwin in a casual tone. They were the first words he had spoken all day. "Attempting to teach a toddler spellwork, it's no small wonder the Hathran are yielding to Thay."

The grip on Dynaheir's quarterstaff tightened and she said through gritted teeth, "Mine Sisters shall never surrender. We have sworn to uphold the honour and righteousness of the Mothers Three and stand firm 'gainst the darkness."

"Darkness?" spat Edwin.

"Aye, wizard,  _darkness_ ," Dynaheir bit back with an uncharacteristic anger. "The murderous, conquering schemes of your evil brethren and the arrogance of the self-serving man can be called naught  _but_  darkness. A darkness you have accepted with your rearing and wear as brazenly as your cloak and dagger. I am sure you have spilt much of your fellow wizarding blood to attain this station."

Edwin laughed coldly. "You presume to judge  _me_?" he said. "Clean your own filth, witch, before you go sweeping the floors of another. How much blood have the Hathran spilt in secret over the years to cement their rule, I wonder. The trade of the assassin was not pioneered in Thay, though we have perfected it fighting your own abominable forces."

"Would Dynaheir like Minsc to check what colour the Red Wizard's blood is?" said Minsc with such menace Thalia actually sped up to avoid getting between them.

Dynaheir stomped her quarterstaff on the ground but refused to face the wizard. For a few moments, an iron rage sat in her face and Thalia thought Dynaheir would turn around and hurl a spell. Then, she shut her eyes and breathed deep. When she opened her eyes, her face was impassioned, calm and controlled, but Thalia knew her anger had hardly left her. Edwin was enjoying only too much his vicious argument, even if he couldn't see the results himself. It had put a spring in his step and a goading smile on his face.

"That... is different," said Dynaheir at last, shaking her head at Minsc to stay his blade. "My Sisters rule righteously and for the common good of all.  _We_  do not foster dreams of an evil empire on the backs of slaves."

Not even denying the comment about slaves, Edwin's malicious grin only widened as he found a retort. "Don't give me nonsense about 'the common good', or, rather, the Hathran ideas of common good, which, strangely enough, always seem to coincide with what's good for the witches. And I'm sure all of Rashemen's indentured servants sleep easy knowing their masters refuse them the title of slave."

"Why, I never knew a Red Wizard to care for those less than their own regal selves," said Dynaheir to Minsc.

"Any of Thay may enter the academies and climb to whichever rank their natures deserve," said Edwin with a superior smirk. "All get what they deserve in the end."

"What a magnificent system," said Dynaheir stoically. "However, those of decent nature know otherwise."

"And who will be the judge of my nature, witch?" he said. " _You_? You and your  _Sisters_  are not fit to judge the contents your own sock drawer, let alone another mage."

Minsc had finally had enough. He took his gleaming greatsword from his back and turned to face Edwin. Edwin backed off from Minsc with disgust, the tip of the blade narrowly missing his nostril. Thalia looked at Jaheira, alarmed. She and Khalid, though not about to join in, did have their hands on their weapons.

"You will not insult the glorious homeland of Dynaheir and Minsc any longer, spell-fiddler!" boomed Minsc. "Whoever tries to harm her shall feel the edge of my blade, the sole of my boot, and the bite of my hamster!" Taking his cue, the hamster found its way to Minsc's shoulder and sat, back arched slightly, ready to pounce with violence in its beady eyes.

Looking past the warrior to his thoroughly furious charge, Edwin snarled and found his eye nearly gouged by the sword's wavering edge. "There will be no protection from me if you continue to belittle myself and my brethren!" he said.

"A witch's protection is a formality, not a necessity," said Dynaheir loftily. "Yet, where are your beloved Thayvian Knights. Surely your Zulkir thought your life worthy to protect?"

Edwin flushed a blotchy red that matched his robes, though whether it was shame or anger Thalia didn't know. "My superiors find me competent enough, my mind shrewd enough, and my power great enough without sending a half-wit to slow me down!" he barked.

"My power is no less than yours!"

"You will not speak ill of my skills when I send what remains of you to your Hathran in a matchbox!"

With a look of steel, Minsc lowered his sword to rest against the crook of Edwin's elbow. "Threaten my charge again and you will forever more fiddle spells with stumps," he said in a stern voice.

Edwin's eyes flitted back and forth between them all with fury, schemes and plans falling together and then falling apart just as quickly behind his eyes. Thalia waited with bated breath. She doubted that with Minsc's sword on him he would be able to cast any spells, but if he did manage to get one off, their chances of coming off victorious didn't look good.

At last, he gave a deep, mocking bow to Dynaheir with great flourish. "Perhaps I misspoke," he said with a semblance of respect. "You and your barbarian would never fit in a matchbox."

There was a shrill squeaking noise and Minsc nodded to the hamster. Very slowly and with great regret and a face like thunder, he returned his sword to his back. "Boo says you don't mean your words, wizard," he said, "but that this is no place for a fight. Minsc does not like this arrangement but he will trust Boo's wisdom. Come along, Dynaheir."

He turned from the wizard to walk alongside his witch again. Briefly, Edwin's eyes lit up at Minsc's exposed back but he stowed his anger with a difficult swallow and stayed at the back of the line, a string of strong curses and insults under his breath.

While Imoen breathed a deep sigh of relief, Thalia couldn't relax. They might have avoided the fight for the moment, but she was sure it would only come in time and she was not looking forward to when it did.

They continued on in a charged silence for several miles down the Golden Strait. It was hard to think this merchants' road wove all the way from deserts of Calamshime in the south to Icewind Dale in the north, a journey of many years spanning the length of the known world. The rocks of the southern mountains slowly gave way to the lush fields and wayward trees of the glistening Sword Coast. Soon, Thalia could even hear the ever-present slapping of waves further to the west.

In an attempt to break the awkward silence, Dynaheir turned to Thalia with interest. "Imoen mentioned your home before?" she said. "Did you truly live in Candlekeep? It is said the library keeps copies of every book and document ever writ. If I ever gained access, I doubt I would ever leave."

Thalia sighed and spoke to the road, struggling to keep her voice level. "The library is certainly big enough for that, but my father Gorion and I left not long ago. He did not make it."

"Oh, Thalia, I am very sorry for your loss," said Dynaheir, but there seemed to be no true sorrow in her voice, only a measured and curious caution. "Were you close?"

Thalia nodded, feeling snubbed by her probing at unhealed wounds. "He raised me. I… I loved him dearly."

"How terrible," she said, seemingly from obligation than any sympathy. "Did you witness his death?"

At this, though, Thalia could only nod. Words failed her and she was in no great mood to discuss the details of Gorion's death with Dynaheir.

"Do you grieve for him?"

Thalia whipped her head up, hurt and confused by the puzzlingly blank expression of curiosity on Dynaheir's face.

"Enough of this," demanded Jaheira, turning to give Dynaheir a foul look. "If we are to speak of Gorion, we will speak of his honourable life and fine adventurers but not of his death or those his murderers will soon face."

"W-Why don't we tell them of the p-pirates of the Shining Sea?" suggested Khalid.

Jaheira chuckled at that but told the story. Nearly thirty years ago, they and Gorion worked together regularly for the Harpers and had gotten word of pirate activity in the southern Shining Sea. The seafaring bandits had found steady work as mercenaries of Winterglen, sacking merchant ships and giving the bounty to their employers to sell along the Golden Strait. The pirate captains had grown fat and comfortable, taking to the rich privileges of nobility as they commanded a fleet of pirate ships.

Jaheira feared they would have a terrible battle ahead of them, but Gorion negotiated a meeting between the pirate captains and showed to them that they had become nothing more than merchant galleys themselves! Their bold, free-loving days as pirates were long behind them so long as they flew the flag of Winterglen. It infuriated them. The coalition of pirates quickly dissolved and they returned to their wild days of pillaging without the backup of the fleet or Winterglen. And so, in the coming years, they were able to bring the pirates to justice, including the feared Captain Shakespeare, whose ship was lost to a great fireball by Gorion.

Imoen laughed. "I hope my wit will get me out of trouble like that one day."

Thalia found it very difficult to speak. All she could see before her eyes was the firestorm Gorion had created in the field before Candlekeep, when the armored figure cut him down.

"Your Gorion was a witch?" said Dynaheir, approving. "It is good for the calm mind of a skilled witch to raise such children. Command over the mystic arts is a wise and noble calling, if you pursue it for the correct purposes."

"About your 'command over the mystic arts'—?" Imoen started, but she was interrupted before she could make another argument for learning magic.

Khalid and Jaheira, who were leading the group, put out a hand to stop the progress. From over the distant green hills to the left of the road came the unmistakable howling and snarling of gnolls. Dynaheir was shocked still and Minsc brandished his blade at invisible foes, putting himself between her and the beasts.

"I don't believe it," muttered Viconia, squinting at the horizon.

A small figure appeared over the hills, a great many gnolls hot on his heels. Slight and lithe, it was clear as he got closer that he was an elf, but the closer he got the more Thalia understood Viconia's disbelief. He was not simply any common elf. He was a drow. His shoulder-length white hair whipped behind him and his purple-black skin glistened with exertion. Shortly behind him was a large wild beast, charging on all fours.

When he was within human earshot, he called to them. "Would you help a stranger in need? I am beset by gnolls!"

"Your powers of observation are stunning, drow," Edwin drawled to himself as he prepared a spell.

Once the drow realized the adventurers were taking arms against the gnolls, rather than himself, he turned on his heels and unsheathed a pair of scimitars with a shining ring of steel. Beside her, Thalia heard Imoen gasp in dramatic wonder but had little time to consider it.

Minsc charged ahead, eager for gnoll blood on his blade, and caught up easily to the drow to cleave the first gnoll in two with a Rashemi battlecry. Thalia, Khalid, and Jaheira were not far behind, their additions followed by a volley of missiles and brightly coloured magical bolts. Between them all, the gnolls fell without much hassle, though the air was still filled with the coppery tang of evocation magic and the smell of burnt dog hair.

The drow sheathed his blades with a magical whistle. It wasn't until after the fight that Thalia noticed the large black cat that clung to the drow's side. It looked up at her with great intelligence, blood on its muzzle. A long pink tongue flashed out to lick the blood. It stalked forward and put one paw across the other, sinking into an unmistakable low bow.

Her heart stopped and she knew who he was even before he introduced himself. The drow passed his creature and extended his hand. "Well met, stranger. I am Drizzt Do'Urden."

Thalia took it after a shell-shocked moment. "Thalia, Ward of Gorion."

Every nation and people of the realms had their own stories and songs and they were rather well-contained to their regions, but the tales of Drizzt the Drow were almost completely universal. His rebellion against the brutal ways of his people in the Underdark, his exodus to the surface, his adoption by the goddess Mielikki as a roving ranger, righting wrongs and saving people, slaying dragons and ending wars. Meeting such a myth in the flesh was hugely intimidating and Thalia felt her knees buckle as they shook hands.

Drizzt smiled softly. "I do appreciate all your assistance. It is a long enough journey back to Icewind Dale, even without these constant interruptions. Normally wild gnolls are not so nomadic."

"That would've been us," she said apologetically. "We cleared out a fortress of gnolls recently."

His smile broadened. "Quite the accomplishment, even with two mages and a—a cleric?" His eyes landed on the amulet of Shar around Viconia's neck, and he seemed quite pleased to meet another surface drow who had turned from their people's dark ways. "Well met."

Viconia nodded shortly. "Viconia DeVir."

Drizzt's smile fell and lines of sorrow carved onto his face. Unlike Viconia's smooth expression that revealed very little, his face had writ on it every emotion that passed him. It made him feel less drow, in a way. "Oh. My apologies."

She waved the past away sharply. "It is the nature of those under the Spider Queen."

Khalid cleared his throat. "I-If you are heading north, you may w-walk with us some t-time."

Without taking his eyes from Viconia, Drizzt raised his eyebrows as if to ask for permission. She gave a tense nod, and they continued down the northern road. Even still, Viconia lingered behind, alongside Edwin, her head held high as she put as much distance between herself and Drizzt as she could.

Imoen jogged to keep up with them. "Is that one Icingdeath?" She stared at the scimitars on Drizzt's belt, particularly the one with a sapphire fixed to its pommel.

He laughed but nodded.

Khalid gained his attention again. "W-What other interruptions have you had recently, Dr-Drizzt?"

He sighed. "I do not recall banditry being such a common profession of the Sword Coast, firstly. How long has that been?"

"Ever since the iron crisis began, I suppose," shrugged Thalia, stifling a yawn. "Desperate men taking advantage. We've been assisting the towns as best we can."

His purple eyes gleamed with excitement. "Truly? It is fine to know good people are still at work on the roads of the realms. But I caution you — the bandits I have largely come across are not mere vagabonds with blades, but sworn mercenary companies. I've recognised the standards of both the human company the Black Talons and the hobgoblins of the Chill."

"We've been able to handle them," defended Jaheira.

"From what I've seen, I am unsurprised. But I caution not against the mercenaries but against whomever who has hired them," said Drizzt grimly.

"Surely, though," began Edwin with a voice so dripping in sarcasm Thalia dreaded what might come next, "the mere appearance of Drizzt Do'Urden should have sent every bandit flying off the nearest cliff by now. Or do the bards' tales exaggerate your deadliness, drow? Perhaps the brigands around here have had no chance of hearing the exhilarating tales about the burning fires in your lavender eyes, or the mesmerizing dance your… little swords do, or the accursed crossdown parry, or—"

"Put a sock in it!" shouted Imoen, rounding on him in her fury.

The wizard blinked, shocked someone would dare talk back to him, but fell silent nonetheless, for about two seconds before muttering darkly to himself a stream of what were surely Thayvian insults.

Drizzt didn't turn around but did chuckle and looked at Imoen, who was absolutely horrified. "It was quite funny," he admitted.

They walked together for quite some time, sharing lunch on the worn cobble road. It seemed the presence of yet another heavily armed adventurer, despite Edwin's mocking, deterred all but the most confident bandits. The peace continued for many miles as they traded rumours about the Sword Coast and conveyed what they knew to Drizzt, though he had no further insights.

When Beregost loomed into view, Drizzt bade the group farewell, wary of getting too close to towns, looking as he did. Viconia replaced her veil and scarf, returning to walk alongside them as he left. As soon as Drizzt was out of earshot, though Thalia was sure his elven ears could still hear them, Imoen started gushing about his bravery and valour and the grace with which he fought. When they found Feldepost's Inn, she was still going on about Drizzt's effortless skill in battle and handsome face.

"Oh, would  _you_  put a sock in it!" snapped Edwin at last. "Keep your inane prattle to a minimum, girl."

Not in the slightest put out, Imoen ordered a bottle of wine at the bar and continued to chat at Jaheira about what her own legendary exploits might be. Minsc encouraged her greatly, for rogues inspired the best songs, he argued. Edwin booked a room and went upstairs in disgust. Thalia stretched, exhaustion bidding her to find her own room to take a nap in to make up for her restless nights. The excitement of travel had long worn thin and she explained herself as such before leaving to her own room, praying for a quiet sleep.

**)*(**

The moment the crumbling building came into misty view, Thalia knew she was dreaming. The stone walls were chipped and well battered, the tall sloped ceiling had lost bricks, and some pillars and supports had fallen away entirely. She moved through it as a ghost, little more than memory. The faded and vandalised fragments of gruesome frescos could be seen on the walls between the crumbling pillars.

Still, the dust and clutter had been hurriedly cleaned by those who now occupied it. A varied crowd had gathered, sitting in the long rows of benches or standing in the back. The whispers of the people were tense, afraid. Some kissed amulets and prayed, eyes shut, or even cried on the shoulders of their fellows. Candles flickered on the walls, casting harsh shadows over their fear.

At the front of this ancient temple was a stone altar, as deeply cracked and worn as the rest of the building, and stained liberally with long forgotten blood. Upon it lay a simple bone dagger. Overlooking the temple was a faded and cracked fresco, a human with a stern face standing atop a pile of corpses while slitting the throat of another with the same dagger. At the apex, the seal of a sinisterly smiling skull, surrounded by twelve tears of blood.

Suddenly, a quiet ran through the worshippers and a score of figures in white robes walked in a procession up the aisle to stand behind the altar. Each of them carried a neatly wrapped bundle of white cloth.

Behind the robed figures, an older man in similar robes followed to take his place before the altar. His hood was down, the flames casting deep shadows on his harsh features. A death-like stillness sat in his face as he cast his eyes across the temple. "Welcome," he called, his voice rebounding off the stone walls.

"Welcome, Brother," they all responded in unison. A woman in the front row began to sob, several others looked at him with hopeful desperation.

"I do not imagine we have much time tonight. This will be one of the first places they will look for us, I am sure, but before we begin, I have but a few words to say," he said in a slow, deliberate voice. He paced around the altar as he spoke, addressing the worshippers. "This journey out to the cliffs has not been easy and I know you are all worried, scared even, but I assure you all of this. If I have learned but one thing in my decades of service, it is this: fathers do not abandon their children. Though the Throne may be empty, the King has not left his kingdom." The worshippers nodded, his voice so filled with holy conviction it seemed to cast a spell over them all.

He turned back to the hooded figures. "Next, I thank my disciples for taking the time to find such sacrifices," he continued. "I am sure it has not been simple, but no matter, no matter. Tonight is the beginning. The Dread Father shall rise and we will walk among our master once more! He will restore his rightful place and we will be the architects of that resurrection."

The hope of his worshippers strengthened, a few of the less well-behaved called out encouragements. He smiled at their antics before turning to the hooded figure on the furthest left.

"Let us proceed. Faenir?" The old man reached out his arms and the first figure stepped forward and offered the bundle in white cloth. He placed it on the altar, unwrapping it delicately. Within, a wrinkled newborn squirmed and cooed.

The old man picked up the dagger with both hands, raising it above his head. Closing his eyes in concentration and tilting his head back, he spoke in the same rhythmic voice, as though a prayer or chant.

"For what is bred in the bone will flow in the blood."

"For what is bred in the bone will flow in the blood," the crowd chanted, their voices reverberating off the cold stone, giving them strength. The dagger of bone seemed to smoke slightly, the faint white tendrils reaching into the ceiling and caressing the artwork.

"For the spark of within will cast through without."

"For the spark of within will cast through without," they repeated excitedly. The smoke flowed thicker, heavier, falling down the old man's arms and gathering at his feet.

"For chaos will be sown from their passing."

"For chaos will be sown from their passing," the worshippers shouted back. The smoke glowed and pulsed as if it were alive, roiling like storm clouds. The child began to cry.

"For He Who Reaps and claims all life," the old man whispered in completion of the prayer.

He brought down the dagger, slicing through the smoke, and the child cried no more. The smoke lost its violent energy as the child's life ended, coiling and curling around the altar like a satisfied pet.

Removing the body, the old man worked his way through the children, repeating the same ritual over and over until the fresh blood dripped down the sides of the altar and the vicious power of the smoke did not recede with each new murder. Instead, it gathered around him until Thalia could barely see his robes and his face was only visible in passing glaces. The belief of the worshippers could be felt like a spell, crackling through the air as they whipped themselves into a fury.

The old priest, when she did see him next, seemed far less than human as though he was lit from within by evil force. His white robes were splattered and stained with bright red. He waved the next one over.

"GO!" a voice roared.

A fireball burst through the door and exploded against the back wall, shelling fragments of stone over the last disciples and the old priest. Whoever they feared discovering their ritual had finally come. The followers screamed and stampeded as chaos broke loose. Some took up arms and went to meet the attackers but most panicked and searched for an exit that wasn't there.

The old priest commanded the smoke like a living being, plugging the hole and securing it against the invaders. Some of them screamed as they tried to battle the clouds. A look of pure rage came over him. He slayed the next child on the altar quickly, but his magic was not enough to contain the force that strove to turn the ruined temple to dust. The smoke dissipated and a crowd of heavily armored warriors and powerful wizards stormed the temple, bringing slaughter to the desperate worshippers.

After the battle had been cleanly won, a man with fast greying hair in spotless steel plate and a long red cape walked down the aisle. He looked distastefully at the evil temple as his men cleared out what remained of the grounds. The bodies of the worshippers now filled it, their blood soaking into the stone. The priest lay dead on his own altar, mouth agape.

"Took you damn long enough to find it," one of the others, a mage in long brown robes, said.

"There are five such disbanded temples in Cormyr," he defended in a steady voice. "Unfortunately, we were too late. We are perhaps lucky their plan did not work, though it appears they sacrificed newborns this time — by Helm." He cursed and turned away from the tiny discarded bodies.

"Sir, sir!" a voice called. A young man appeared from a door at the back of the room, a look of shock on his face. "There's… more of them, sir."

"If it's more dead children, I would rather not see them right now," the commander said wearily. "Once Father Petyr gets here, we can give them proper burial. Helm knows we won't find their parents."

"They're not dead, sir," he said cagily. "But—there's a nursery back here. More than twenty!"

"And they're all alive?" It was more than the commander could've hoped for. "Make sure they're kept warm and safe, I'll send word to Elminster. He would know best what to do with them."

The next hours passed by in a blur. The messenger sent on horseback to ride south with all haste, the tired commander seeking retirement, his men looting and picking through the corpses they had made. To ease the horror of the wholescale slaughter, a few of the men cared for the dozens of nameless infants, rocking them to sleep or making them giggle in the ruins of the bloodied temple they narrowly escaped.

**)*(**

Thalia woke to the familiar pain of fear. She gasped and put a hand to her chest, as if to prevent the bone dagger from taking her own life as well. The details of the dream rushed past her, becoming indistinct and blurry, but she could still hear the cries of the stolen children on the altar.

Wiping the unshed tears from her eyes, she stood and wandered downstairs, intending to face the cold night to clear her stress. The moon was high in the sky and Feldepost had long since gone to bed, a young apprentice looking after the inn and bar in his absence. There was but one patron, sitting at the far end of the room and Thalia knew she wouldn't be able to simply walk past her.

"You look as though you have seen a ghost."

Thalia turned to face Viconia, expecting the same blank or perfectly crafted expression of concern, but the elf's face was riddled with something she almost would have called grief.

"I would not be surprised," said Viconia with a shade of her old contempt. She closed the small leather-bound book and set it on a nearby table, which held a nearly empty bottle and glass of wine. Her veil lay around her neck, her headscarf still covering her hair so to most, she appeared as another elven traveler. "Stranger things have happened about you."

"Just…. Just bad dreams," Thalia said in a small voice, her hand on the door.

"You seem to have those a lot." She gestured to the seat opposite hers and Thalia looked at it with surprise. "You have caught me in a considerate mood."

Thalia sat, none too anxious to tell another about her odd dreams. "What happened between you and Drizzt?" she deflected.

The half-smile Viconia formed was weighed down with emotion. "I am about as eager to speak of those old wounds as you are about your dreams. But you have proven a worthy ally, if a somewhat inept one at times, and I would tell you the gist, if you wish."

Thalia nodded, though she was unsure she could stomach much more horror tonight.

Viconia looked into the fire and gathered herself before continuing in a voice devastating in its soft calm. "I…" She hesitated and grimaced, searching for words. "I share parents with fourteen other females and two males. Between them, I had a brother, once. Varlas was a special male." In spite of herself, a fond smile began to creep onto her face. "Even as a child, I remember no matter how many times he was beat and whipped for insolence, he would spring back with another smile, another trick, another kind word for commoners, another slightly blasphemous joke. Like I, he had grown discontent with the ways of the Spider Queen. He had faith in a better life for drow than under Lolth and it is a shame more did not share his vision. Shortly after his death, I turned to Shar, the Lady of Loss, and escaped the Underdark."

Viconia's hand went to the token of Shar around her neck, lost deep in memory. Eventually, she sighed and took a sip of her wine and met Thalia's eye again. She had a feeling she understood the nature of how Varlas had died.

"Some years after I escaped the city," Viconia continued, "House Do'Urden destroyed mine, as is common among ambitious drow. I hold nothing against him — I myself have done much in such House wars to survive — but the meeting today opened old wounds."

Thalia felt her mouth fall open. That part was most certainly not in the songs of Drizzt. Viconia's words lay heavy on her shoulders and stomach. But through the pity she felt a profound sense of trust, as the dark elf struggled briefly to get her emotions under control again. "I'm sorry," is all she could say but she knew Viconia didn't want it.

Viconia coughed, recovering herself, and shifted forwards in her chair. "Needless to say, perhaps, that this does not leave your—"

"Of course not," said Thalia, insulted at the idea she would. "No one else will know."

Viconia nodded, pleased. "And what keeps yourself awake?"

Thalia hesitated,, but she saw none of the greed or malice she expected in the drow, just simple concern for a friend—or, as Viconia had said, an ally. She might even have answers or be able to help.

"Truth be told," she said heavily, "I've had them for some time. At Candlekeep, perhaps once or twice a tenday, but in this last month, they come… they come almost… every…. night. Excuse me, Viconia."

Thalia stood, confused and somewhat stunned. She felt the same dizzying fear as when she spotted the armored figure bore the sigil of the smiling skull, her dreams made flesh.

A man had just entered the tavern, an older man but still well-built, a sword swinging on his belt in a gilded leather sheath. His blue robe hung open to show a plain set of travel-stained clothes. He sat at the bar and took off a floppy hat. It was the same wandering wizard who Thalia and Imoen had met outside Candlekeep, what felt like a lifetime ago. But that wasn't what had shocked her.

The young barkeep had taken one look at the wizard and ran to fetch Feldepost. Though rattled and grumbling, the innkeeper broke out in a wide smile at the sight of the wizard. "Elminster!" he cried, shaking hands with the wizard.

Thalia crossed the barroom as though in a dream, her blood pounding in her ears, the lined face and weary voice of a mysterious commander of Helm rose clear and unbidden in her mind.

_Make sure they're kept warm and safe, I'll send word to Elminster. He would know best what to do with them…_

Without looking at her, Elminster waved at the empty barstools next to him. "Come and sit, Thalia. I've matters to discuss with thee."


	11. Chapter 10: Wizardly Warnings

"Who are you? Why're you here?"

Feldepost puffed himself up, blushing a deep scarlet at her ignorance. "You don't know Elminster? Why, he's —"

Elminster raised his hand. "Peace, Reyden, she meant no harm," he said in a deep, measured voice. "I am but here for a little while and would like some measure of privacy to speak with her."

Feldepost looked confused, but left the bar along with his apprentice to return to bed.

"Take a seat, please," repeated Elminster. "Proper introductions are in order."

"I've heard of you," said Thalia, still not moving to take the offered stool.

Perhaps the only one who could rival Drizzt in fame, Elminster was an ancient and powerful wizard and a Chosen of Mystra, the goddess of magic. His exploits were far greater than Drizzt, having defeated gods and their armies, battled through the Lower Planes, and destroyed evil empires. He had also assisted both Mystra and her other Chosen to defend the Weave, the magical force which allows wizards to cast spells, from those who sought undue power. Not to mention his other freelance adventuring, as those he had taken on his journeys formed the Harpers in his honour.

"You were so close to Candlekeep," said Thalia, as tears of anger and confusion threatened her, "you could've helped G—you could've helped us. After all he did, traveling with you—"

"Gorion was a brave and worthy man who did all he could," said Elminster without the slightest bit of sincerity. "As did I. We kept in regular correspondence as to courses of action regarding these days which are now upon us, but there is little the Chosen or the gods may do in such matters. We are sworn from it."

"What—?" The mention of her father and reminder of truly how poorly she had known him twisted like a bitter knife. But the comment of the gods drove any questions about her dreams from her mind. "What matters? What do the gods have to do with who killed my father?"

"Sit, my dear."

Thalia sat next to the old wizard, every muscle tense and teeth clenched to hold back curses. He had the same soft but stern features she remembered, powerful and unknowable, but they invoked no sense of comfort now.

Elminster ignored her questions and anger, speaking in the same infuriatingly serene voice. "I've heard nothing but greatness in the tales of the exploits of thee and thine company," he said with a chuckle. "The wild necromancer of Beregost, the demon mines of Nashkel, the gnollish fortress - it is all fine work and I am pleased thee taketh after Gorion admirably, as he promised thee would."

"I wasn't aware my actions were such common knowledge," said Thalia, her lip curling at his intimate knowledge of her.

"Perhaps not quite yet common," allowed Elminster, "but plain enough for those who know where to look. Still, I must determine thine motives."

The anger in her flared and she whipped her head up to look him in the eye. "And what of your motives?" she spat. "Who gets to judge you? You knew we would be attacked and rather than coming to help us, you just watched and waited. You let your friend die and his wards stumble about the wilderness. If I weren't following Jaheira and Khalid, I wouldn't know where Imoen and I'd have ended up."

Had she not known better, a flicker of concern seemed to knit in Elminster's fluffy white eyebrows. "Time wears on, as it always has," he said seriously. "And it has taught me it be best to not stick my pipe in others' affairs."

"When you named Gorion a friend, his affairs became yours," said Thalia in a hard voice. "Your Harpers are known to be nothing but meddlers in others' affairs."

Elminster thought on that and smiled fondly at the mention of his Harpers. "And what of thoughts of vengeance?"

"And what is your interest in that?" said Thalia hotly. "My father was murdered before me, the least I can do is make sure the beasts that put him down are slaughtered."

A worry grew distant in his eyes and he nodded. "Vengeance will not return Gorion from the grave," he said. "I must urge thee to keep Gorion's spirit alive in thine heart and prove his faith in thee to be just, no matter what thee might hear or discover. He had faith in you. A great deal more than I." He stood, putting his floppy hat back on and taking ahold of his gnarled walking stick. Elminster fixed Thalia with his cold black eyes. "Thee and thine are doing the work of the brave and bold. Continue to forge your path as such and thee shan't run into problems."

"Are you threatening me?" asked Thalia, hardly daring to believe someone's of Elminster's stature would travel across the realms merely to waggle his finger at her.

He smiled faintly. "Not threatening, dear girl. Simply warning." Elminster nodded to Thalia and Viconia in turn, before disappearing off into the night without another word.

**)*(**

Thalia grew tired of secret-keeping and, when the rest of the party woke, told them over breakfast of Elminster's unexpected arrival. At first, Khalid and Jaheira were overjoyed. Despite being Harpers for many years, they had never met the Old Sage personally, but their joy turned to discomfort as Thalia explained Elminster's thinly veiled threat.

"As I said last night," interjected Viconia, "I don't feel this to be of any issue. None of you plan to stop hunting the source of these brigands, which seems to be what Elminster wanted."

"E-Elminster rarely gives such warnings," said Khalid thoughtfully. "A master D-Diviner, he might've foreseen t-temptation ahead."

"If neither gods nor Chosen are able to partake in such events, it must be more dire than simple temptation," said Jaheira, her brows knitting together as she pushed at her porridge.

"Since you both knew Gorion far better than I did," snapped Thalia, "what might have he been mixed up in that prevented divine intervention?" But, to that, the half-elves had no answer.

Jaheira put her hand on Thalia's shoulder and looked at her solemnly. "I know you are frustrated, but we will find these murderers and exact revenge for Gorion's death. I promise you that. Anything else, we can deal with when it comes."

"Minsc promises too," said Minsc in as serious a voice as he was capable. "From what the pink rogue has said about Gorion, he was a wise and humble witch who did not deserve such death. Songs will be written about his killers' bloodied bodies!"

Thalia found a smile crossing her face despite herself.

Minsc bowed, his clenched fist over his heart. Beside him, Dynaheir was unusually silent and she avoided the eye of everyone at the table.

"Is something wrong?" asked Thalia, bemused.

Dynaheir paused before she spoke, choosing her words carefully as she spoke to her porridge. "In Rashemen," she said, "it is bad luck to learn about one's future. Mortals are not meant to seek such knowledge. Perhaps it is simply best to wait and… let things unfold."

As Jaheira said something about of course they wouldn't be sitting on their thumbs for things to happen, Thalia felt Dynaheir's unspoken words hang thick in the air. A hard stone sat in her stomach as she was rapidly reminded they had only met the Rashemi pair a handful of days ago. While she knew Edwin to be untrustworthy and a generally unpleasant person, perhaps Dynaheir was not as clear and dry as she first appeared.

Thalia held Dynaheir's eye for several more moments before Dynaheir, at last, looked away.

Conversation turned to Tranzig and his arrival sometime in the coming days. Jaheira had already asked Feldepost about any half-orcs currently staying, but of the two, neither of them seemed likely. One was a paladin sworn to Tyr, the god of justice and honour and retainer of Lathander, and the second a moderately famous mercenary Feldepost vouched for as a regular visitor.

Regardless, after Thalia had went to bed last night, they had sent Minsc over to investigate the mercenary over drinks. Despite not being the subtle type, Minsc performed excellently and the two bonded well, drinking, singing, and telling stories well into the night. If the mercenary was indeed Tranzig, in order to keep up the charade he would've had to show an intelligence almost unheard of among half-orcs.

Imoen wanted to stake out the barroom, day and night, but Khalid gently reminded her that a heavily armored party staring at the door might turn off Tanzig and make him flee. Still, he managed to come up with a compromise that suited Imoen well enough. Taking shifts, the seven of them (Edwin obviously excluded) would wait quietly in the bar and alert the rest of them whenever the half-orc arrived. Soon, Khalid promised, they would have the answers they sought.

**)*(**

After an uneventful and restless tenday, the twenty-fourth of March came and went. Jaheira expressed an impatient doubt that Tranzig would show at all. Khalid managed to soothe her concerns, as these were bandits and half-orcs they were dealing with. A matter of a few days here and there was nothing to concern themselves over.

At least one of them waited in the barroom of Feldepost's at all times, while the others were cooped up in their rooms, fully armed and prepared to strike. Most of the time was spent playing chaltar and knucklebones while Minsc cheerfully extolled their great adventures through the realms, though eventually even he ran out of tales to spin.

A handful of them managed to find time to occupy themselves, always leaving most of the group behind at Feldepost's to confront Tranzig, whenever he showed. Imoen had thoroughly disturbed the pockets of most of the residents, far away from the disapproving eye of Jaheira.

Thalia, on the other hand, had taken once again to having Khalid train her in his dual-weapon fighting style, common among elves. Since seeing Drizzt fight in the flesh, it had inspired her to attempt it again in earnest, with a clear head. Khalid remained a calm and thorough teacher, eager to continue their lessons, especially since she was no longer using the training to relieve her frustration on him.

Khalid and Thalia returned to their suite after one such long afternoon training session, sweat-stained and exhilarated from the brief relief of their boredom, only to return to a very familiar argument.

"What if he arrived in disguise?" asked Jaheira. She paced the room impatiently, Viconia's eyes following her from where she sat in the corner.

"I have combed through the rooms of each of the guests," she said, bored. "There is nothing suspicious in their drawers, dressers, packs, bedsheets, or closets. Naught but that magical cloak at least," she added, the corners of her mouth twitching in memory.

Dynaheir looked up from her deck of ornate mystic cards she had been shuffling. They reminded Thalia horribly of the fortune-telling tiefling slave at the Nashkel carnival. "The cloak?" Dynaheir repeated, though Thalia already had an idea of what Viconia had mentioned.

The corners of her mouth extended into a smile. "Imoen rather took a shine to it, despite it not being pink," said Viconia.

"You stole a cloak?" Dynaheir shook her head disapprovingly, picking a selection of cards and turning them over. "I would rather you do not get young Imoen involved in such behaviour."

Thalia would've laughed and told them about Imoen's stealing habits at both Candlekeep and here in Beregost, but Dynaheir was giving her that same peculiar look, a mix of fear and deep worry. As soon as Thalia returned it, she glanced away. The cards she had turned over, regardless, did not look promising. A black raven, a heart with a dagger of bone thrust through it, and a hanged man. Dynaheir hurriedly pushed the cards back together. She glanced up to see Thalia staring at her in surprise. A spark flashed between them that chilled Thalia to the bone.

She knows.

Before their staring could be noticed by another, the door to the suite opened and an extraordinarily bored Imoen came in, wearing a shiny new navy blue cloak and carrying a wooden dinner tray. Setting it on the table, she flopped down onto an open chair with a dramatic sigh.

"Sun's down," she announced. As she opened Tarnesh's spellbook to where she had left off, Thalia wondered if Imoen had even watched the door at all today.

Dynaheir shuffled the cards together and stowed them in her bag, taking out her own spellbook to begin preparing spells for the night. It caught Imoen's attention, at least, who put away Tarnesh's and lurked over Dynaheir's shoulder as her eyes glazed over, her fingers running through familiar passages in her spellbook, her lips muttering nonsense. After some time, she bowed her head and made the sign of the Three Mother Goddesses. Minsc mirrored her sign and they shared a warm smile.

"I promise I'll just prepare the one spell," Imoen wheedled. "Maybe Burning Hands?"

Dynaheir sighed but relented, flipping through her spellbook for something appropriate. Something that wouldn't cause a forest fire. "What of Longstrider?" she said. Rummaging in her bag, she pulled out a tawny feather and put it in Imoen's hand. "It is a spell that greatly increases the speed of any single person or creature of your choice, though not yourself. We can't have you getting lost or running into walls," she added with a smile.

It took well over an hour for Imoen to grasp preparing a simple spell but when she had, she was struck speechless with gratitude and carefully stowed the feather.

Thalia pursed her lips. No matter how useful the spell sounded or how much fun Imoen had with magic, Thalia couldn't help but be worried for her. Perhaps not now or tomorrow, but her excitement about Burning Hands might develop into an excitement for Horrid Wilting. When Imoen saw the look on her face, she lost her enthusiasm.

Thalia sighed. "Just promise me you'll throw away Tarnesh's spellbook and not hoard anymore evil spells?"

Imoen nodded rapidly, turning the feather between her fingers. "Harper's honour, Lia."

Dynaheir smiled and looked to Thalia. "Perhaps we ought begin a spellbook for Imoen?"

This was far more than Imoen had even dared to imagine and despite Jaheira's protests that Tranzig was due any moment, the pair, guarded by Minsc, left the inn and went about to find a suitable book with which to scribe a few simple spells in. It was inevitable that Imoen would get what she wanted eventually, but it still left a bitter taste in Thalia's mouth. Still, better the witch than the wizard, she considered.

Thalia stood and offered to take the night shift, again, as she already couldn't find restful sleep despite Jaheira's best druidic magic or all Feldepost's alcohol.

Downstairs, quite a few people cluttered the tables and bar, ordering dinner and drinking very loudly, as they would for much of the night. Thalia spent much of the time wearily people-watching, but no half-orcs came calling.

As the crowds began to thin and people sought their beds, Feldepost abandoned the bar to his young apprentice and headed off to his room. The man straightened all the chairs and wiped down the mess the evening crowd had left behind, while Thalia stood aimlessly before a lone bookshelf in the far corner. Though Feldepost did not know why they were looking for the half-orc, he trusted in the fine reputation of the Harpers and let them watch his bar and patrons without concern.

With far fewer customers this time of night, though, Thalia could risk taking a book before the fire and only looking up at the jingle of the brass bell on the door. Picking what looked like a promising bestiary, Thalia set herself before the fire and began to flip through it as the hours slipped by. She had first hoped to find a reference to the smiling skull, but it soon became clear there was nothing of the sort to be found. Neither was there any hope in any collections of songs and stories or even a book detailing the greater gods and their cults.

The symbol of Cyric was a white skull, but it had no jaw, and was on a black and purple starburst with no tears to be found. His domains of lies and strife certainly fit her disturbing dreams, but a god so arrogant wouldn't misrepresent his own holy symbol as such.

All in all, it left her exactly where she had begun — with nothing but Tranzig's appearance to guide her on the path of the assassins, while her dreams remained stubbornly closed to her.

Thalia fingered the next page thoughtfully. Perhaps she should ask Dynaheir about them. Through Jaheira and Khalid's knowledge of the wild, Thalia had learned much, but Dynaheir was a witch, schooled in what she claimed was an organization that expected nothing short of mastery over mystical arts.

Edwin was not even a consideration. Even if she did appeal to him, there was no guarantee that what he knew was true or even if he would tell the truth. Unless he showed proof, she decided, it was just a play to mess with her head. But Dynaheir's unspoken and hidden concerns about her had truly unnerved Thalia, who had taken the Rashemi pair to be honest, good-hearted folk. How bad could it truly be?

The same fear prevented her from returning to Viconia. Whatever insight she could provide - and Thalia was sure she would have some direction - a large part of her was terrified of the answers.

A pair of halflings came in far past midnight. Their loud appearance ruffled Thalia's feathers, but from their diminutive heights, it was clear none of them was a half-orc in disguise. She eyed them cautiously, however. She hadn't run afoul of another assassin in quite some time, but couldn't bare to discount these strangers. The halflings didn't stay long, though, and after some laughing and a few honeyed cakes and flagons of mead, they returned to the road and Thalia breathed a sigh of relief.

After they had left, the barkeep asked Thalia if she was in need of anything else before he locked up and went to bed himself. She shook her head and bade him goodnight.

Yet another night without Tranzig. She wondered if maybe they had already missed him. Perhaps another emissary had been sent in his stead and they had lost their lead. It was an awful thought and she pushed it aside.

Footsteps came from the floor above her, down the stairs. Glancing over, she saw the hem of a very red set of robes at the top of the steps. Returning to finish her chapter and shaking her head, the corner of her eye watched him take the chair opposite her in the now-empty inn. The wizard coughed to get her attention.

He had chosen to stay at the same inn, but preferred not to join in during mealtimes or the inevitable shopping and exploits about town over the last days. It was quite easy to forget he still shadowed them. He coughed again. Thalia turned the page and didn't bother to look up. He grabbed the front of her book, his rings glinting in the firelight, and ripped it from her hands.

Thalia smiled at him pleasantly, as if she had just noticed his presence. "Yes?"

"This land is infected with mercy, which, in time, causes such complications as feeblemindedness," he said in a voice just as pleasant, but the facade quickly broke down to a quiet anger. "You are a sick, very sick woman, and it is now I who suffers by your symptoms. Are you unable to grasp I did not wish to save the witch and travel in her abhorring company but to kill her?"

Thalia reached for the book, but he threw it across the room, where it hit the bar with a low thud. "Why must you pester me with this?" she scowled. She felt like she was dangerously close to provoking him but Tranzig had been putting them all on edge as of late. "Khalid and Jaheira are the ones who decide where we go and what we do."

"I took you to be of the honourable sort," he said coldly. "You accepted a job yet have not completed it."

"I didn't know the full extent of it."

"Does that seem to be my problem?"

Thalia thought for a moment and then said carefully, "Why do you want her dead?"

Genuine surprise broke through his consistent mask of scorn and anger. "Well, because she's a Rashemi. One less in this world will be naught but an improvement. They lie as easily as they breathe."

Thalia bit back her next question. She desperately wondered why he did not simply kill Dynaheir himself, but she didn't want to give him any ideas. At any time since they had come to Feldepost or even in Nashkel, he simply could have crept into her room with a dagger and slit her throat, leaving for Thay before even poor Minsc realised. Even, if he had killed her outright at the stronghold while the rest of them were held in place, he could've returned home. Still, she felt she was on thin ice with the wizard and, though she would never admit it to him, she was afraid of his power.

"You said you wanted to continue with us because you didn't want the witch's lies to poison us," said Thalia, searching his face for any clue. "What did you mean?"

Irritation was the only emotion she found. "Do I look like a djinn to you?" He stood, cursing her questioning under his breath, and prepared to return to bed.

Frustrated with his unwelcome, rude presence, she bent to retrieve her book from where he had thrown it. "Why're you still here?" she all but shouted after him.

He stopped on the stairs and looked back at her, confused. "Why, because of you, of course."

"What?" she started, dropping the book again.

His smug smile returned and he crossed his arms. "As I say, whenever you want to ask, I will provide answers."

Taking a chance, Thalia followed him up the stairs and cornered him in the hall. "You aren't the only one who knows," she bluffed. "Dynaheir does, too."

The wizard shrugged. "I wouldn't be surprised. There is, after all, only so stupid one can be. But she would never tell you," he promised. He cast his eyes over her with something like respect in them. "You have a commanding presence, if you look past the dirt and western barbarism. You will do nicely," he said with an intimacy that raised the hairs on the back of her neck.

He pushed the door into his room and left Thalia with even more questions and fears than she had before speaking to him.


	12. Chapter 11: Foul Magic

March melted into April with still no sign of Tranzig. Their restlessness only grew. There was only so many times they could suit for battle and just… wait for nothing. Their days were filled with staring at walls and searching endlessly for some question they had not yet asked the Rashemi or finding some way to relieve their boredom. Even Imoen had tired of harassing Dynaheir about simple spells. However, Khalid came in the room one morning with a pained look on his face.

He fingered his blades thoughtfully, his mouth set in a hard line. "L-Last night, the captain of the guard, B-Braig, killed his family, much of his guard, and ran off into the woods."

Imoen gasped. Thalia raised her eyebrows in disbelief. Dynaheir shook her and tutted.

"There are all sorts of evil men in the realms," said Dynaheir. "I assume there be a bounty on his head?"

Khalid hesitated but nodded. "His c-cousin and friends say this was all t-too sudden."

"Many do not know the evil others are capable of," said Dynaheir absently.

"Still, I-I would wish to t-talk to him first," said Khalid. "B-Before someone hunts him d-down."

Minsc stood up, elated to smell an adventure on the horizon. "Then Minsc will hold the evil doer at the point of his sword until he spills his heart!"

Khalid chuckled and stood with him, holding the door open for the Rashemi. Thalia, Imoen, and Viconia were not far behind. He looked at them incredulously.

"A-All of us? It's really n-not necessary."

Imoen crossed her arms and looked up at him. "We've been waiting here for over a tenday with nothing to do," she said. "No discussion — we're coming."

Khalid looked torn and Thalia smirked as she thought of Jaheira's rage if she came back upstairs and they weren't back.

"Fine," he said, exasperated. "But use t-the window. I d-don't want Jaheira to know we all went."

Imoen dashed over to it and pried the window open. The drop from the second floor, especially in heavy armor, looked quite dangerous to Thalia and she wondered what Khalid had possibly been thinking. A moment later, however, Viconia cast a brief spell and Thalia flinched as she felt herself enveloped in a cool feeling of weightlessness. Imoen and Thalia hesitated but Viconia rolled her eyes at their lack of faith and stepped out the window herself, only to float gently to the ground rather than splat into a drow pancake. An anxious minute passed before Imoen and Thalia followed and ran to catch up.

Khalid and the Rashemi waited for the rest at the edge of the clearing. At their approach, Khalid turned down a footpath that wove through the bush and led them single file through the narrow trail.

"His c-cousin said he returned to t-their family's cabin," Khalid called back. "Deep into the w-wood."

Thalia grimaced and held back a tree branch from taking her eye out. "Why can't we go to a nice open plain for once?" she muttered under her breath, but a contagious spark of excitement began to weave through them as they marched deeper into the bush. While surely not the most thrilling of adventures, the common bounty was at least a break from the monotony of the inn.

"I, for one, am glad to get my boots dirty again," said Imoen, echoing Thalia's thoughts. Thalia could hear the smile in her voice and smiled to herself. "Maybe get to use a bit of magic?" added Imoen.

"Of course, child," said Dynaheir with a note of warning. "But, there are times and places to use such powers and — pray tell, what are you doing?"

Thalia turned just in time to see Imoen behind her with the hawk's feather outstretched as she muttered something. Suddenly afraid of an accidental lightning bolt going off, Thalia took a step forward and moved to grab the feather from Imoen's hand but she had finished the incantation and the single step Thalia took hurtled her forward like an arrow unleashed from a bow.

Her stomach lurched and she stumbled, arms flailing as she struggled to regain her balance. Suddenly, everything moved far too quickly and she found herself unable to stop. The trees became brown and green blurs as she flew well back into the clearing outside Beregost and knocked two of their number over before she finally fell, face first, into the grass.

Groaning, she rolled over, dizzied by the sudden movements and out of control speed. Thalia was distantly aware of Imoen howling with laughter and thundering footsteps as they ran back to where she had fallen. Afraid to stand up, Thalia breathed heavily, her heart racing and she damn well hoped Dynaheir had something to dispel the magic.

No sooner had she thought it than an icy chill wove down her spine, spreading through her bones, and whispering away a moment later, leaving behind not a single trace of Imoen's mischievous and supposedly harmless spell.

Thalia struggled to her feet, wary of moving too quickly.

"I believe a measure of gratitude is appropriate when one is saved from one's own stupidity," said a snarling voice. The Red Wizard was splayed out on the ground behind her, having been knocked over by her uncontrollable speed.

"What in the hells are you doing here?" she said with thinly veiled disgust.

He stood and brushed himself off with as much dignity as he could manage. "Evidently, protecting my investment before a walking pink hazard incinerates it."

A flush of anger crept up her collar. "I am no one's investment!" she said hotly. "And I do not need saving from Imoen, of all people."

The rest of the party had run back in the clearing, following Thalia's flight path. The others all wore identical expressions of distasteful surprise when they saw the Red Wizard.

"E-Edwin?" said Khalid incredulously. "W-What are you doing here?"

He smirked and, without taking his eyes from Thalia, said, "Helping you all defeat some such captain of the guard."

"W-What's his n-name?" Khalid's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"I generally don't care to learn the names of those about to die, stumbletongue," he said. He brushed past the half-elf and sauntered back towards the trail.

Khalid watched his back, his brow furrowed in apprehension. Dynaheir threw him a pointed look but Khalid only sighed. Thalia grimaced as they continued down the trail, Edwin now following close behind them. She wished Khalid had put his foot down or perhaps Dynaheir could continue the fight they always seemed on the verge of with him. Anything to get rid of him but, no, every time she turned to talk to Imoen, she saw the flash of red at the back of their line and her heart plummeted.

It was well into the afternoon by the time Khalid pointed to the distant planks of a house as they peeked through the trees. Smoke wafted from a tended fire nearby.

"R-Remember," said Khalid sternly, "we want to t-talk to him first. I would hate t-to kill an innocent man."

Regardless of his words, they all put cautious hands on their weapons. Six sane mercenaries against one mad guard was far past overkill, but at least the trek was a worthy escape, reflected Thalia.

The trees soon parted to reveal a quaint wooden cabin, smoke curling from the stack of a grey-stoned chimney. There was something unsettling about a man butchering his family and hiding out in such a peaceful place. As they circled the house, she could hear a man chopping wood. And there was Braig. A thin face with a greying beard, now flecked with blood. He was still in the armor of the Flaming Fist, but it was heavily dented and bloodied, and a glowing magical sword swung on his hip as he split the logs.

He paused to wipe his brow, lowering the hatchet.

Khalid stepped forward slowly, unthreatening and calm. "Captain?" he asked.

Braig's head whipped around and a demented anger danced behind his eyes. He fought with it, spluttering his words. "W-What's going on?" He glanced at the other armed adventurers, his lip trembling.

"Just wanted t-to ask you about last n-night," said Khalid in his gentle voice.

"Careful, male," Viconia snapped to Khalid.

"I—no. No!" shouted Braig, backing away. He shook his head rapidly, like a child on the verge out a tantrum.

"The sword," said Dynaheir. "It's cursed."

The sword on Braig's belt began to steam, giving off a bleakness and dread Thalia could feel at this distance.

"I accept the blade," said Dynaheir, stepping forward. Khalid gripped her by the shoulder and Minsc gave a cry but trusted his witch. She reached out a long-fingered hand. "Give it to me," she said solemnly.

Confusion cluttered Braig's face and mind. His hand covered the hilt of the dangerous sword. "I can't drop it," he said at last hopelessly. "Ever since I picked it off those bandits… I can't…"

"Cursed items may only lift when accepted by a willing other," she said with a sure smile. "I've experience in curses."

He hesitated again, unsheathing the blade in one smooth motion. He held it at his side, uncertain.

Khalid tensed, drawing his own weapons slowly. Beside her, Thalia felt Minsc ready to spring in case Braig decided to attack. They waited with bated breath before Braig slowly stepped forward and held the sword by the blade, offering the simple leather grip to Dynaheir.

"Thank you," she said. She took a deep breath and accepted the sword.

Even when Braig's hand left it, Thalia thought that maybe nothing would happen. Maybe it was a regular enchanted sword and Braig had just gone mad, but then Braig collapsed and Dynaheir spun around and threw herself at Edwin, blade raised in both hands to strike.

Khalid dropped his weapons hastily and grabbed Dynaheir by the waist, dragging her back. She thrashed and flailed in his arms but he held fast, bewildered. Her mouth twisted into a violent snarl, her eyes flashing with an unstoppable rage. She still wielded the sword, slashing it wildly through the air, which Khalid avoided by the slimmest of margins.

Unthinking, Thalia rushed to the mage's side and wrestled the sword from her hand.

"Watch it!" shouted Khalid, worried.

Dynaheir fell as dead weight in his arms, barely conscious, as Thalia felt the simple sword rest in her hand.

Khalid continued to shout at her but she heard nothing. There was an effortless calm and peace, but it was shattered a moment later by a vicious storm, a raging lightning blast that struck to her core. Her hands trembled as images rushed through her mind, dredged up by the blade as it sifted through her memories. The first time Dreppin beat her with a broom, the merciless bullying that left a young Imoen in tears, the solid impact of her fists as Thalia thoroughly pummeled them, the easy way her practice weapons mangled the magical training dummies, her mind a million miles away as the straw turned to blood, the burlap to flesh, the wood to bone...

Though it spoke no words, the blade told her it could all be hers. It promised glory, battle, a way to satiate her bloodlust.

Gorion, mangled and left for the birds...

It promised revenge.

The first clumsy bounty hunter, falling on her blade…

It promised victory.

The magic that ripped from her soul and struck the bounty hunter of Nashkel…

The blade whispered to that shard of her soul, drawing forth its anger and violence.

It promised power.

Slowly, she turned to face Edwin, who paled a little and backed up at her look. Her breathing laboured, as if already in the heat of battle. With a satisfying smooth motion she belted the cursed sword and closed the distance between them.

Blood thundered in her ears as she looked up at him, anticipating the hot feel of his blood as it dripped down her hands. He held her eye with something close to excitement and smiled slowly.

"You might want to blink sometimes," he said daringly. "I hear it's good for the eyes."

"Thalia, give to Minsc," said Minsc seriously but his voice was distant, the meaning of his words coming to her several seconds later.

"I'm fine," she said in a cool voice, without tearing her hungry eyes from the wizard. Her fingers itched to wrap around his neck, but perhaps that would be too quick.

Khalid and even Viconia kept at it with Minsc but Thalia was too concerned with how best to kill the wizard before her. All that existed was the roiling energy inside her, the urging and desperate need to be fulfilled, the blood and glorious death to be wrought. The wizard studied her in equal measure, watching and waiting for her to act.

"No, you're not fine."

Thalia flinched. This voice was different. Female but high pitched, worried rather than commanding and tugged at something deeper.

The wizard smirked. "Fascinating," he said, casting his eyes over her form, which trembled in anger and prepared violence. "You are actually attempting to fight a curse of violence."

"Braig f-fought it," said Khalid in defense.

"Braig butchered his family and men," said Edwin carelessly. "The grief cracked the curse enough for him to fight it." He reached for the shining sword in Thalia's hand.

Thalia backed away and sneered. "I think one mage with such a sword was enough for one day," she said. "Unless you want Minsc to hoist you by your left ankle."

"I will destroy the curse on the sword, you daft woman," said Edwin, extending a finger again.

Her eyes widened and a fear that was not hers rose in her. As he began to speak the spell, she wrapped her hand around his throat, pushing him into the tree behind with a satisfying thud. She tightened her grip and he choked, his eyes widening and he clawed at her hands but she held fast.

"The wizard probably can remove it," a desperate, deep voice pleaded. Dynaheir had returned to her feet and she tripped over to where Thalia had pinned him. "Most curses trace their ways to Thay," she continued in a bitter voice "Curses, as magic, are a specialty of his kind." Dynaheir put a hand on her shoulder. "Drop him and let him remove the curse."

Thalia looked to the purple mage scathingly. She could see no sense or reason to not squeeze whatever information he had out of him before destroying that arrogant face forever. After all, this was supposed to be Dynaheir's enemy and Thalia's simple annoyance. If anything, Dynaheir should be throttling him.

A sharp pain burst in her hand, sinking through the leather over her fingers and drawing blood. She screamed and dropped the wizard, who stayed at his knees, gasping and choking on the air that rushed to his lungs.

Thalia waved her arm but the furry devil creature kept his teeth buried in her hand, tearing the minor wound larger.

"Fine job, Boo," said Minsc, beaming proud. The rodent immediately leapt as agile as a flying squirrel to his master, scurrying up the leather scales to rest on his shoulder. "There will be apples and seeds for kings tonight, my friend."

Thalia drew the blade and pointed it threateningly at the hamster. Blood continued to trickle from Boo's toothmarks. "If you insist on that beast being in battle, then lets test his metal," she barked.

Minsc chuckled amicably, his friendliness an affront to her. "Boo has already bested you," he said. "Do not fear, Thalia. Many cannot stand the might of Boo's vicious bite."

"I will not be outdone by a hamster!" she shrieked.

Darkness overwhelmed her vision. At first Thalia thought it was simply anger but then it continued, swallowing her world in its dark peace and calm, devouring the wild energy and all her strength. With a last weary breath, she collapsed, her eyes closing and the sword falling from her hand.

She came to her senses a few minutes later, disoriented, her memories jumbled.

"Of course it's Thayvian-made, could any other nation produce such a splendidly enchanted weapon or one of such fine craftsmanship?"

"If you would look to the crossguard, it has a name. 'Varscona' is no Thayvian word I know and the alphabet is draconic."

"Weapons cursed with violence are common fare among Thayvian warriors, for all are bound to a greater Red Wizard. Are you an expert on the greater cultures, dashka?"

"Nay, simply literate."

Thalia's eyes fluttered open. Edwin held the sword delicately, the steel flashing in the late sunlight. Dynaheir quite sensibly leaned away from him. He pointed it at her, the tip wobbling.

"History's greatest arcane works are writ in Thayvian. Makes me wonder what the Hathran do read."

"Lia!"

Both mages turned to see Thalia sit up with a groan. Imoen ran to her side, her face creased with concern. "Are you alright?"

Thalia took her hand to stand but brushed away the worry. "I'm fine," she said. A rush of embarrassment and something deeper stopped her, as she remembered how she had behaved, how she had thought.

Imoen knew. "Stop saying that," she said, punching her arm. "Tell me."

Thalia shook her head. "Later," she said.

"I'll hold you to it," said Imoen, fixing her with a threatening eye.

Thalia cleared her throat. "I guess that clears up the mystery of the guard captain," she said to Khalid. She looked to the distraught form of Braig, who sat on the cabin's stoop, his head in his hands.

Khalid grimaced. "I-I will explain to the ch-chantry what happened. There should b-be some leniency."

"I don't want leniency," sobbed Braig. He lifted his head. His cheeks were stained with tears. "I've nothing left to go back to."

Thalia winced, remembering her rage against Boo and wondered how far it would have extended. "We can pay to have your family raised," she said.

"My wife's last memory is me…" He shook his head, unable to continue.

Khalid put his arm around the man and let him grieve on his shoulder until the broken man found the strength to stand and return to the town with them. As they turned to walk back through the trees, Edwin pressed the sword into Thalia's hand.

"Aren't you glad I came along now?" he said pleasantly.

Thalia looked at the sword, her heart twisting. It was a simple steel blade with a leather grip, the crossguard bronze and carved with a series of runes of vertical slashes and dots. Varscona. It had gone silent, the sinister whispers banished, but a trace of magic lingered, a whistling sharpness and hot to the touch. Still, it seemed harmless enough.

Khalid guided Braig along behind them, leaving Thalia alone with Imoen at the cabin.

Imoen kicked the ground, avoiding her eye. "Wanna talk?" she ventured.

Thalia slid Varscona into her belt and smiled wearily at Imoen. They followed the others, keeping a distance behind to maintain their privacy.

"I… think I like fighting a bit too much," admitted Thalia. She hesitated, not thinking Imoen would judge her but more that in her own embarrassment. It felt like a weak impulse she couldn't control.

"I like fighting too," said Imoen. Thalia sighed and thought maybe she should try talking to Khalid, but Imoen continued in earnest, "I know what you mean. Like there's something really exciting about taking down an evil necromancer and destroying all their evil but then, they're dead and it's just Adric the Wizard in silly robes."

"I like winning," said Thalia. She swallowed back her emotions. "I like beating someone when you can see they're trying hard as they can but they lose, because I'm better. But when I held the wizard, I just knew I was the better fighter but I wanted to prove it to everyone. Nothing could stop me."

Imoen chuckled hollowly. "Good thing he could de-curse it."

"What if I get like that, though?" asked Thalia. Nerves tore in her voice and betrayed her fears. "I already enjoy the blood and the killing, so why don't I go up a few rungs and become a bard's villain? I'm already seeking revenge for a murdered father."

Imoen blinked at her. "Nine Hells, Lia, calm down. There's no reason you could ever get like that," she said. "If you started getting like that, you know I would stop you."

Thalia snorted at the idea of little Imoen "stopping her" in any meaningful way.

"I'm serious," insisted Imoen. "Besides, all bard villains fly solo with a bunch of stupid minions and you're never gonna get rid of me — and I'm not any useless minion," she added in a hurry. She linked her arm with Thalia's for emphasis and Thalia couldn't help but laugh, her heart lightened by Imoen's spirits.

Imoen kept up the idle chatter as they returned to Beregost with Braig. Khalid went into the chantry with him, while the rest returned to their rooms in Feldepost's Inn. Jaheira, as they expected, was outraged as they all came traipsing through the front door, but more from jealousy that she was trapped indoors all day while they went out. To ease her anger, Imoen and Minsc offered to take the night watch.

Left alone in their shared room, Thalia had no doubt that Tranzig would not show tonight. He was consistent, if not punctual. Not wanting to sleep, even as fatigue wore into her, Thalia stayed up late, searching through the rest of Feldepost's humble collection of books for any mention of smiling skulls.

In the hall, a floorboard creaked, then another. The footsteps came to her door, quiet and uncertain. Anticipating Edwin's gloating over the cursed sword or more taunts, she armed herself with a particularly heavy book as she went to answer the sharp knock.

It was only Viconia.

Thalia dropped the book on a table and gave a weak smile. "In case of the wizard," she explained, inviting her in.

Viconia raised an eyebrow. "I see." She sat in a comfortable armchair by the window, her lips pursed. "Might I ask you something?" she asked.

"What's wrong?" Thalia sat at the edge of her bed, concerned.

"I was hoping you might help me understand something," said Viconia with a frustrated sigh. "Siblings." At Thalia's blank stare, she elaborated, "You told Imoen of your fears, your emotional turmoil. You confided in the girl your private thoughts and feelings."

Thalia crossed her arms, still lost, but now violated as she realised Viconia had heard their conversation earlier that day. "And?"

Viconia's eyes widened and she threw up her hands. "What if Imoen were to betray you someday? You gave her information that was not necessary to strengthen an alliance but instead, could only weaken you."

Thalia couldn't hold back the laugh that escaped her. Viconia stiffened.

"This isn't a laughing matter," she said.

Thalia shook her head in disbelief. "I've known Imoen all my life."

"I had fourteen sisters and two brothers," said Viconia dryly. "As the eldest, I knew them for nearly two centuries by the time I left the Underdark and not once would I consider confiding as you did."

"What a lonely life," said Thalia, frowning as she considered it.

"Drow have no need for companionship," said Viconia stiffly, avoiding her eye.

"But you want it," said Thalia with surprise as she realised what she said was true.

Viconia gaped like a fish, opening and closing her mouth soundlessly. A faint dark flush spread over her grey skin and she didn't answer.

"I won't tell," said Thalia. She grinned and Viconia's expression softened. That was as close as a smile she felt she was going to get. "I guess it would be a leap of faith for you," she said.

"But, does privacy not exist?" asked Viconia with a note of insulted concern. "Between you and Imoen…"

Thalia bit her lip as she thought of what she had not yet told Imoen. The extent of the dreams, Edwin's taunts, and the bolt of magic she had generated on the bridge. "We don't tell each other everything," she said.

Viconia raised an eyebrow skeptically. But at that moment, Minsc's heavy footsteps charged upstairs and he stuck his head in the room.

"There's a half-orc, a half-orc just checked in!" he said in a loud stage whisper, beaming with excitement. He ran down the hall, Imoen right behind him.

A shot of adrenaline went through Thalia and she grabbed her sword as she and Viconia followed Minsc into Dynaheir's room, where the others had gathered.

"—yes, thank you, Minsc," said Jaheira. She shushed the large man. "Everyone, calm down. Stay here. I will be back in a few moments, just… calm. We don't want to tip him off."

"I don't get it," sulked Imoen. "We waited all this time to get to Tranzig, now he's here—"

"I daresay we cannot simply accost him in the middle of the night," said Dynaheir. A few minutes later, Jaheira returned with Tranzig's room number, which was on the floor above them.

Viconia told them to leave the interrogation to her, but Jaheira warned her sharply that torture was not their way. Viconia scoffed at the accusation and slinked off in the shadows, saying to count to a hundred before following her.

"P-Prepare yourselves," said Khalid.

He and Jaheira took place by the door, attempting to see through the crack into Tranzig's room, while the others took inventory of themselves for a fight. After all this time waiting, Thalia was starting to feel rusty, but them all against a single half-orc, in a public inn, would be simple. All they needed to do was get him to tell them where Tazok was, where the bandits were, another lead to take them further.

Either Jaheira had gotten to one hundred or she had grown tired of waiting, as she motioned to them all to slink into the room. Jaheira pushed the door in and it opened with a creak, attracting the attention of Tranzig within.

At first he was relieved, but when he recognised none of the adventurers he scowled. Like all half-orcs, he had skin the colour of pea soup that was wrinkled so deeply it appeared two sizes too large for him. Curtains of greasy black hair hung around his face. "What's youse doing here?" he growled. "Git outta my room."

"Your name is Tranzig," said Jaheira. It wasn't a question.

Tranzig's eyes flickered back and forth as he caught sight of Minsc behind them all and the weapons in their hands. "Never 'eard of him," he said uneasily.

"Perhaps you could tell us what you were going to meet with Mulahey about," prompted Jaheira.

Tranzig let out a bark of laugh, his hand rummaging frantically through his drawers. "None of youse is Mulahey, so why should I?"

From behind the drapes of the bed, Viconia stepped forward and lashed out, kicking him behind the knee and he fell to the floor immediately. She pulled him back by his hair, her sword at his throat.

"Maybe you wish to join him?" she asked in a hard voice.

Tranzig's lower lip quivered as the steel bit into his neck. "Now-now-now, listen here, little missy—"

Viconia sighed, slicing through both robe and flesh of his arm, so blood streamed down it and dripped onto the wood floor. Tranzig cried out in shock and pain.

"What's in the drawers?" asked Jaheira.

Despite his position, Tranzig refused to answer. She nodded at Imoen to check. For a moment, Imoen fumbled between the robes, then she gasped in wonder. Imoen pulled out what was unmistakably a wand. Though her own Wand of Magic Missile had been a simple wooden stick with a shining pink gem on the end, this one was of ebony wood with a smooth handle of leather and flames carved into the shaft. As long as her arm, Imoen's face was lit by the softly glowing ruby at the tip.

"Careful with that," Dynaheir yelped. "It's a Wand of Fire."

Grumbling, Imoen stuck the wand in her belt and took her place behind Thalia again.

"You're a wizard?" said Viconia in revulsion, addressing Tranzig, who chuckled anxiously. A few crimson drops inched down his neck.

His eyes lit up with the forming of a plan. "That's right! Imma mighty wizard," he warned, "and if yeh don't get outta my room, I'll blast yeh all to kingdom come!"

Rolling her eyes, Viconia patted down the self-proclaimed wizard and tossed the pouches and cloth bundles of prepared spell components on the bed, where they sat harmlessly out of reach.

Replacing her blade on his throat, she pressed it a little more tightly and the droplets turned into tiny rivers that disappeared under his robe.

"Okay, okay, okay," he said in a shrill voice, his face twisting with terror. "I'll tell yeh anything yeh wanna know. Just let me live."

"Who are you? What do you do? Who employs you?" said Jaheira.

Gulping then wincing as Viconia's blade brought even more blood from his neck, Tranzig said between sobs, "I'm just a messenger, I swears it. All I's do is run messages for Tazok. Me new contact was that Cyric priest, Mulahey. I meet with Tazok someplace in the Woods of Sharp Teeth twice a month, sometimes in Peldvale or — or Larswood and I run them to some other bandits. He pays me good so I keeps me yap shut."

"W-Who is Tazok?" demanded Khalid.

"He's captain of some bandits — two groups, I thinks, bunch of hobgobs and bunch of humans. The camp's always moving so I dunno how yer gonna be finding it, but it be in Sharp Teeth somewhere. I always see the patrols going around the bush when we's meet." He looked down at the sword again, panic and tears forming in his eyes. "Oh, gods," he begged, "please, please just don't kill me."

"We can't have him warning Tazok we're coming," said Jaheira bleakly, nodding to Viconia.

Without another word, Viconia drew her blade across Tranzig's throat and the half-orc's lifeblood poured over the neck of his robes. He scrambled against his death but it was already too late and soon, the life and fear left his eyes and Tranzig moved no more. Thalia felt Imoen grab her hand at the pitiful sight, though she had to suppress her own mounting excitement at the mention of Tazok.

"The Woods of Sharp Teeth?" asked Viconia, wiping her blade on the dead wizard's robes.

Jaheira nodded, rifling through Tranzig's things. Dynaheir examined the spell components and found most of them to be useful, pocketing them for herself.

"They are the woods east of the Friendly Arm Inn," said Jaheira. "A handful of logging towns exist in the area, Larswood being the largest. But I would think Tazok only wanted to meet in populated towns in order to not draw too much attention to his bandit camp."

"If we can f-find these patrols," said Khalid, "they would lead us s-straight to them."

Jaheira pulled out a hefty bag of coins, a silver-plated dagger, and a rather thin spellbook. "Best we buy more supplies," she said. "It will be a long journey to the Woods of Sharp Teeth."


	13. Chapter 12: The Woods of Sharp Teeth

Thalia didn't want to admit how much she missed being on the road. Aside from finally feeling useful again, she felt herself take one step closer to finding those who had killed Gorion over a month ago now. Despite whatever meddling Elminster wanted to do, there was little anyone could say that would detract her from her goal.

Before leaving Beregost, they had needed more supplies better suited to the road, including rations for the Rashemi couple, a new hatchet, and they even had enough to spare for a new magical greatsword for Minsc. Though he was reluctant at first to part from the sword of his homeland, he was quickly swayed by the thrum of magic in the hilt of the new one which gave off an aura of biting cold.

There was even enough gold that Imoen did not need to relinquish Tranzig's wand. Dynaheir had inspected it and found it to be neither trapped nor cursed, and let Imoen keep it under the condition she would use it sparingly. So far, aside from the occasional group of bandits or rapid wolf pack, there was no enemy worthy enough to waste a charge on, though Thalia waited with bated breath for the inevitable inferno.

Under Dynaheir's watchful instruction, though, Imoen ploughed through a few simple spells and even surprised her mentor with how quickly she had picked them up. It only added to Imoen's inane chatter. She practiced incantations and proudly repeated how she had just mastered  _Feather Falling_.

On the other hand, the Red Wizard still followed them silently, having left the town with them some paces behind. When night began to fall, he would set up his magical fire and wards within sight of their own, his red robes a blight on the otherwise picturesque Sword Coast.

After they had traced the familiar path back to the Friendly Arm Inn, Jaheira and Khalid led them down the right fork in the road and the great towers of the Arm slowly disappeared from sight. The cobblestone of the merchants' Golden Strait faded off into gravel and then dirt as the terrain became denser and the trees inched ever closer to the road.

At last, when they crested over a hill, Thalia saw why it was called the Woods of Sharp Teeth. The trees were pointed like spikes, as thick around the base as any castle's tower, thinning into a steep peak, the skeletal branches holding only a handful of grey-green leaves. Light filtered through the leaves and branches in slight beams, casting long shadows across the dim forest floor. Roots as thick as fallen trees burst from the ground and lay over wet moldy leaves. A dense grey fog crawled across the ground, preventing them from seeing more than twenty paces ahead. Rarely, shadowy figures of unknown creatures came into focus before bounding off deeper into the woods with an echoing howl or grunt.

The first few nights in the Woods of Sharp Teeth, needless to say, were hardly pleasant. They even managed to put a damper on Imoen's spirits and Dynaheir made two circles of wards.

Just when Thalia felt they had left all manner of civilization behind, they came across a road sign. It pointed in two directions but had a number of markers to different logging camps. Those to the east were  _Larswood_  and  _Peldvale_. They followed the path and within the next few hours, the sounds of a town came to them. Joyful shrieks of playing children, a distant rush of a river, the screech of a saw, and shouting men.

Larswood was set in a vast clearing alongside the road, a number of impossibly thick tree stumps dotting the small town. A handful of houses, a tavern, and a long worker's barracks sat alongside the river, which ran through the center of town. A few militiamen walked the perimeter of the town, bows in hand, a tree patched on the back of their leather armor while the town's few children played knucklebones on one of the stumps. The river powered a sawmill at the far edge of town, which screeched as the men guided the remnants of a giant tree through it.

Jaheira flushed with anger and looked like she was about to lecture the men on respecting nature, but Khalid put his hand on her arm and she sighed, scowling and following his lead.

"Ho, travelers!" shouted one of the men, waving shortly as he noticed the party. He came down from the sawmill and roughly shook their hands. "No offence, but we have no need of missionaries today," he said kindly.

"We were j-just hoping for a p-place to stay the night," said Khalid.

The worker wiped his brow and shook his head. "We don't have any inn, but you're welcome to set up camp behind the barracks. Best to stay close to town, you're deep into the woods now," he warned.

"Thank you very much," said Jaheira through gritted teeth. She went off to the barracks with her husband, muttering in heated tones to Khalid about the logging industry and its impact on such ancient forests.

At first, Thalia thought this night might actually be reasonably comfortable. The only store sold them some fresh venison for not too extortionate a price and the Red Wizard had made his camp out of eyesight of their own. Muffled sounds of drinking men and a shrill fiddle came from within. The fire felt more homely than a desperate attempt to beat back whatever creatures lurked in the woods. She snuggled deeper in her bedroll, determined that if she didn't fear or even think of the dreams, they might not come.

"Who is that?" asked Jaheira in a calm voice.

"One of the m-militia?" said Khalid.

"Nay, he wears no insignia," whispered back Viconia.

Thalia rolled back over. On a root some distance away from their camp and largely obscured by the fog, stood a man with a bow, his rugged armor casting a dire silhouette in the moonlight. He turned back, the fog swallowing him at once.

Viconia picked up a length of rope and made move to follow him. "Do not leave the town," she said. "I will return."

Imoen stood. "Let me come with you."

Viconia looked back at where the man had left and decided time was too precious to waste with arguments. "I am not responsible if you get lost," she threatened, but allowed Imoen to follow her motions in the darkness as they followed the strange man through the woods.

Thalia had no great concern with Imoen exercising her own roguish nature. Sneaking around was sec0nd nature to her, and Viconia had proven herself a capable assassin and more than capable if they encountered something dangerous. After all, she had braved the wilds of the Underdark.

Dynaheir closed her spellbook. "We best get some sleep," she said. "And await their return."

Minsc took first watch as the rest of them crawled into their bedrolls. One by one, their breathing steadied and slowed, a few gentle snores mingling with the crackling of their fire.

**)*(**

Despite her worries, the smiling skull did not plague her that night. Instead, she dreamed of the courts of Neverwinter, their spotless lavender halls filled with pale icewines. She could still taste them.

When Thalia woke, the last embers smoked faintly and sunlight pierced through the branches, making the encroaching fog appear less threatening than in the night. Khalid coaxed the smoking coals into a small fire and set about heating the last of the night's venison for breakfast.

"Imoen hasn't come back yet?" said Thalia as she realised the two were still missing.

Minsc shook his head. "The pink and the grey one both."

Thalia looked back over the fog and the root over which they had followed the man last night. As they hadn't yet returned, she had to assume he was one of the bandit patrols and not just a lone hunter. A nagging fear began to eat at her as the day wore on.

Thankfully, it wasn't necessary. As the sun began to sink in the sky and the shadows grew long and threatening again, Viconia and Imoen drifted down from one of the lower branches, falling ever so gradually while Imoen chanted in a measured, quiet voice. A few feet from the ground, Imoen stopped speaking and the two fell with a soft thud.

Beaming with pride, Imoen turned to Thalia. "Told you magic was useful." The two girls embraced tightly, a tidal wave of relief crashing through Thalia.

"We need to talk," said Viconia gravely, putting a hand on Thalia's shoulder to break it up.

Viconia brushed away the wet leaves from the ground and drew a rudimentary map of the woods in the dirt. The rest crowded around her.

"Tranzig said the camp does not stay in one place very long and once they discover one of their patrols did not return, they will likely move again. I say it is eight hours north-west, but there are... a lot." Her brow furrowed at her vague estimation.

"There are never too many bandits for Minsc and Boo!" said Minsc confidently, a shrill squeak from his pocket affirming him. "They shall soon taste justice all the same!"

"How many is 'a lot'?" asked Jaheira.

"Dozens," said Viconia, shaking her head. "There are a few communal tents, but they were using a cave as a den as well. Hobgoblins, gnolls, and wardogs, but mostly humans. I couldn't get an accurate headcount. If we can get there in the night, I will take out as many as I can by stealth, and when the alarm is sounded, charge in." She looked at Dynaheir with pointed respect. "I would rather have two arcane casters for such an assault."

Imoen grumbled at that, surly she wasn't considered a second arcane caster.

"He clearly is waiting for something," said Dynaheir in a hard voice. "But I doubt even he would lie in the bushes and watch us attack."

Privately, Thalia had to agree. Whatever his true motivations were for staying, even if she were the cause of his consistent presence, he wouldn't let them go to waste.

Good enough for Viconia, she pressed on and continued to detail the simple map to Jaheira and Khalid while Minsc packed up their camp and prepared for them to leave. As the fire was snuffed out and everything packed away, a charge went through the party. Now, at last, they were about the destroy the headquarters of the bandits who plagued the Sword Coast and were responsible for nearly plunging it into war with Amn.

As Dynaheir predicted, when they left Larswood and followed Viconia down an unmarked path through the forest, Edwin was not far behind. He glided over the roots and rough terrain with his magic, though even that didn't stop the occasional tumble and Thayvian curses.

There were many bruised shins as the sun fell over the horizon and pitch darkness threatened to engulf the woods, but the half-elves and Viconia provided a safer passage through the thickets. Jaheira lit an orb of sunlight but its light only reached so far. It did prevent a great deal of tripping, it served to make the darkness beyond all the more foreboding.

A dark excitement brewed in Thalia and she struggled to stay in her place in line and charge ahead. Within the camp, likely the great leader of these bandits, would be the armored figure, Tazok. Soon, revenge for Gorion's death would be hers and this would be done. She felt her heart race with murder, eager for his blood on her blades.

After Minsc helped them over one last root, Viconia put up her hand to tell them to stop and Jaheira extinguished their light. Following Viconia's outstretched arm, Thalia could make out the faint columns of smoke and distant laughter of men. They had made good time and the camp hadn't yet moved. Perhaps they had not even discovered one of their patrols hadn't made it back and they could still have the element of surprise.

Slowly, they crept closer and the rest of the camp came into view. The clearing was larger even than Larswood's and filled with rowdy men crowded about several towering bonfires. A small city of tents and braziers created alleys and streets. From the sounds of it, they gambled away on the tree stumps, and had been drinking heavily. Most of the men didn't wear armor, too enraptured with their night of fun, though handfuls of them retreated into large huts of animal skin. A few flags were planted in front of the huts — an ice blue hand on a white standard, a three-clawed red hand on a black background. Thalia remembered the mercenary companies Drizzt had mentioned, the hobgoblins of the Chill and the humans of the Blacktalon. Sure enough, a sizable amount of the bandits were hobgoblins, short and stout like dwarves, but with gnarled green faces and armor decorated with the bones of their enemies.

Viconia took out her blade and made to begin slitting the throats of those already having gone to bed, but Khalid stopped her.

"Wait," he whispered. Taking the length of rope from his wife's knapsack, he made a loop and expertly threw it to one of the lowest branches. It secured itself some thirty feet up, the end of it dangling before them. "Dynaheir, Imoen, get some high g-ground."

Imoen scurried up the rope easily, straddling the large branch that reached out above the camp. Dynaheir needed a bit more pushing and prodding but eventually, she, too made it up the tree and placed herself behind Imoen, overlooking the bandits' camp. The rest of them shedded their packs, leaving them hidden in the bushes.

Viconia nodded at Khalid with grudging approval before slinking off into the camp. Thalia tried to watch her movements but the fires throughout the camp ended up casting deep, dark shadows that made Viconia's mission only too simple. She moved from tent to tent, swiftly darting through the darkness and waiting behind crates and boxes for the wandering bandits to pass, before moving on to the next one.

Thalia unsheathed her two weapons, weighing them in her hands, as she tried to remember Khalid's detailed instruction. An empty, fluttery feeling held her stomach and she licked her dry lips as the battle drew ever nearer. The others took their own weapons in hand, as they waited in purgatory for Viconia to return.

A shirtless bandit was about to enter a hut Viconia had already left, no doubtedly full of blood and the bodies of his fellows, but an arrow whistled from above, landing in his neck and he fell with a wet choking sound. Thalia looked up to see the ends of Imoen's legs wiggling with excitement from the lucky shot.

One of the bandits called for the one who now lay dead in plain sight. "Carl? You really going to bed — CARL!" he shouted, running to his fallen comrade.

Jaheira prodded Thalia in the back. Having found herself at the front of the line, Thalia stumbled but the soft, wet leaves gave way noiselessly.

The bandit who had found Carl stood up, drawing his sword and spinning around to find the culprit. The other bandits around the nearest fire stood, confused, but many too drunk to comprehend what had happened. Thalia dashed the distance between her and the lone bandit. She drove her blades through his unprotected back. He groaned, shocked, and his sword clattered to the ground. Withdrawing her swords with a wet sound, he fell face-forward, blood pooling under him.

His death pounding in her ears, she spotted the mostly unaware drunken bandits out of the corner of her eye. She charged into the thick of them, slicing her way through those nearest. An effortless rhythm and speed found her blades as she counted off the time of the fight.

 _One, two, three_ …

It took too long to stab them all as she had done the first. Instead, all a single bandit needed was a clean slice across the chest, neck, or gut, and they would fall or stumble back — dead or near enough. Those who attempted to stand received a swift kick to the face and they returned to the ground. The few who wore armor had an uncured leather that was little use against her sharp blades and it cut easily, giving way to expose their delicate flesh.

Her mind fluttered to a complete silence, settling away into a single white point of satisfying violence. She reacted on instinct that had but only started to be honed with live steel but felt something further driving her, her swords a blurred whirlwind of blood and metal.

_One, two…_

A few managed to pick up their own weapons, but they couldn't control their momentum, following their thrusts and slashes so far Thalia was able to dodge and still find openings wide enough to ride a horse through. Carving their defenceless sides, she felt her blade scrape the bottom of the ribcage and clash on bone. They fell, spluttering blood, their lives over so quickly. She crossed her legs back and matched the footwork and timing of the remainder of the outlaws who tried to gut her, barely needing to parry to dispose of them.

She understood now why prestigious warriors referred to fighting as "a dance".

Spotting a pair of archers out of the side of her eye as she fell the last of the bandits around the near fire, she ducked behind their keg as the first arrows flew, breathing hard as she felt the arrows hit the barrel with a  _thud-thud_.

There was the deafening noise of an explosion and the pained screams of panicked men. Risking a look, Thalia saw the end of a great fireball belch acrid black smoke as it devoured several tents, sending their flaming occupants fleeing in terror. The archers screeched and fell silent, their corpses still burning. Hungry magical flames licked higher, curling up the sides of the nearest trees, burning leaves smoking as they twirled to the ground.

Thalia laughed as she realised it was Imoen and her damned Wand of Fire. She wiped the tang of the smoke from her eyes and advanced through the camp. She kicked the smoldering braziers out of her way in a shower of sparks. Those few bandits remaining in their tents poked their heads out tiredly, attracted by the noise. Spotting the carnage, they went back inside to take up arms but none made it any further. Making a desperate jab at Thalia, she easily parried their weapon away and took the opportunity to end their life.

Minsc and the elves — though, largely Minsc — cleaved apart the parties of bandits, gnolls, and hobgoblins around the many other scattered campfires, who were now as fully alert as any rabble of drunken criminals could be. Magical bolts whizzed and zoomed through the air, bringing unnatural lights and smells to the air as they found their targets.

The unnatural taste of bitter violets filled Thalia's mouth, followed by the haunting screech of torn metal. Turning at the sound, she was just in time to see the ragged portal close and a trio of delicate wind spirits float through. Little more substantial than a breeze, their forms swirled like fog. They egged the flames on, whipping them higher and hotter in a gale, driving the bandits to the ground or throwing them into the deep woods with a gust of wind.

It was all the assurance she needed. The bandits were taken care of.

A much larger tent on stilts sat not too far away from the destruction caused by Imoen's Wand of Fire. That, surely, was where Tazok was. Pushing aside the flapping sheet that served as a door, Thalia took in Tazok's inner circle and base of operations. A series of low-lying cots sat against the back wall alongside locked chests filled with paperwork. A heavy wood desk and throne-like chair dominated the room, while the right wall was lined with weapon racks. Two men in robes hurried as they dug through the chests. A thickly muscled half-ogre with long, matted black hair was far larger and heavier than even Minsc. A snotty, sneering hobgoblin captain whined like a wounded dog, half way between its own language and Common, as it begged with Tazok. And Tazok himself. An exceptionally tall and broad human bandit with a cunning face and set of black plate armor swatted the hobgoblin impatiently when he saw Thalia. It may not have been the spiked black armor of her nightmares, but his size and build brought him close enough to it.

"So you're the one destroying our camp?" he asked, his voice icy.

Thalia's heart beat faster. There was no doubt in her mind that he was the armored figure, who had attacked her and Gorion outside Candlekeep.

"You killed my father." She wanted to come across as sturdy and intimidating, her voice a low growl of accusation, but instead she sounded nearly as whiny as the hobgoblin, her voice full of the high-pitched hurt of a child.

"I've killed a lot of fathers, little girl," sneered Tazok. "You might want to jog my memory, so I may know who I'm dealing with before I kill you."

"Shut it, Malek!" roared the half-ogre, spitting with anger, his greenish face a blotchy red. He slammed a tankard the size of a milking bucket on the desk.

"This game is over, Tazok," the human, Malek, said sharply. "Your coin isn't worth that much to the Blacktalons that I will willingly throw away what remains of my men."

Her heart stopped.

Thalia felt a cold rage begin to grow in her as she looked hopelessly at the half-ogre that the leader of the Blacktalon mercenaries had called Tazok. Almost ten foot tall and weighing a ton, his words mangled by his animalistic jaw, his wits dulled by his ogre blood and drink, there was no possible way Tazok had been the armored figure. It slowly began to sink in as they fought among themselves.

_The armored figure wasn't here._

This was Tazok, who had hired assassins to kill her, but not the armored figure, not Gorion's murderer. He couldn't be. And now the trail had grown fully cold. Gorion's murderers would get away, not punished, not paying. She felt herself back in that clearing outside Candlekeep, standing over Gorion's mutilated body, her mind stunned into silence with grief and pain. A hollow pain in her chest echoed, a place where Gorion and her home once lived.

"Your contract has not ended yet!"

"Contracts were made to be broken."

"No one will ever hire the Blacktalons again, I'll make sure of it!"

"If you live through what this one has planned for you. You—girl, what was your name?" Malek turned again to Thalia, clicking his fingers at her.

"I'm Thalia, Ward of Gorion," she said plainly, her voice shaking with raw emotion. "And you're all going to die."

The men who stood at the back with the chests had heard that one, the lids of the chests closing shut with a creaking thud.

Malek chuckled and picked his helmet from the desk, cinching the strap around his chin. "Oh, is that so?" he said, still chuckling. He took a mace off his belt.

Without any more guidance, the stupid hobgoblin charged blindly at her, axe raised, but a prompt kick and slice across the creature's vulnerable throat ended its plans. It gurgled and fell to its death.

She stumbled backwards in a hurry, eyeing the men at the back with unease. One raised his hands, a few stuttered words enough to tell her they were mages. So long as she kept Malek and Tazok between her and the wizards, they didn't dare cast spells for fear of hitting their allies.

Tazok roared with an inhuman battle cry as he raised a warhammer and brought it down, stumbling past her in his drunkenness. Thalia dodged under it. Malek dashed out of the corner of her eye and she barely parried his attacks of opportunity.

Avoiding the warriors put her back in line of sight of the mages, who began casting their spells as quickly as they could. Thalia dropped the shortsword in her off-hand, taking up the elven throwing dagger from her belt, and hurled it at the one on the far right with all the force she could throw behind it. It struck him deep in the chest, creating a mortal wound. It instantly flew back to Thalia's hand. She threw the dagger at the second mage, but wasn't able to see where it hit.

She felt Tazok's ground-shaking footsteps as he took a terrifying running charge again at her. Thalia stepped to the side at the last moment and heard him crash into a crate, scattering it into splinters. But through the crackling fires outside that were getting ever closer and Tazok's own cries of anger and pain, she heard a human grunt.

Spinning on her heel and catching the returning dagger as it flew back to her hand, she sunk into a defensive stance, only to find herself face to face with Malek. She crossed the dagger and longsword, managing to catch the mace in their cross. She spun it to the floor as she pushed him away with her boot.

Breathing heavily, Thalia yelled and attacked in blind anger. Malek smirked as he held up his shield. The blow echoed down her arm. He was expecting her to pound away helplessly at it, knowing her sword couldn't penetrate his steel plate. She barely managed to restrain herself, yearning to hilt her weapons in his smirking face.

Malek's eyes left hers for a brief moment to look over her shoulder, his eyes widening. Anticipating the charge, Thalia and Malek both side-stepped again and felt the giant half-ogre hurl past them, mace in hand, stumbling across the tent's ground. Gathering her strength, she tried to continue what his charge had not yet finished and pushed him. Losing what little balance he had left, his momentum carried him through the sheet and tangling in it as he crashed to the ground. He thrashed, but a few deep stabs with her longsword and the sheet was sufficiently bloodied. Tazok's thrashing took on a more frantic note as he groaned and whined.

Thalia lost the grip of her sword, as it was caught on the beast's bones. Panic rose in her but with each successive pull, Tazok only locked the sword deeper in his body, fighting at every turn. She gave up on the sword, glancing back at Malek. He had picked up her forgotten shortsword and was far closer than she thought.

Ducking from his first swipe, the blade whistled over her head as it sliced through clean air. She feinted to the right but he saw through it and knocked her in the chin with his shield. The rim caught her jaw and her lip tore, hot coppery blood filling her mouth and dripping down her face.

She ran over to the weapon racks, but he was right behind her, the mace coming down where her hand had been moments before. The wooden rack buckled under the blow. Thalia grabbed the nearest weapon she could, which ended up being a spear, and turned to face Malek.

He only grinned again and fell back, ready with his shield to bloody her face again. Without looking down, she returned his grin with vengeance and stuck the blunt end of the spear behind his leg. His smile fell as he tripped, crashing to the ground with a groan. Dropping the spear and kicking the shortsword out of his hand, she knelt over him and braced her arm under his head, baring his neck for the dagger. His visor flipped up and suddenly he looked very young and very scared. She hesitated.

Malek bucked against her and threw his shield wildly at her face. Seeing stars, Thalia fell back, her nose gushing blood, and her fingers loosening their grip on the dagger. Malek wrestled it away from her and it clattered harmlessly out of reach. She arched and fought against him to reach their lost weapons, crying with frustration, but his greater size and weight pinned her to the ground.

Her fingertips brushed the eagle-carved hilt of the dagger and her spirits soared. Malek wrapped his hands around her throat and started to squeeze. She abandoned the dagger and began to panic as black crept alongside the corners of her vision, threatening to engulf her world. The links of his steel gauntlets pinched and caught at her skin, breaking it and sending blood to tickle down her neck. His face twisted with malice, sweat dripped down onto her in salty beads. Her fear and panic mingled, erasing all sense and mind, as she fought against his grip on her.

She grappled at his hands, trying to wrench them from her neck.

And they let go.

Desperately gasping for air, she choked, dizzy with the fresh breath.

Malek stood up, stumbling backwards looked down at her in surprise, nay, shock. And fear. His gauntlets were white hot, glowing faintly as though just pulled from a smith's forge.

She raised a hand, as if to tell him to stay back. A searing pain shot down her spine, coiling behind her fingers, and she feared another bandit attacked her. But from her splayed fingers shot five thick ropes of flame that wove into a singular blast. He screamed and ducked, but the powerful bolt of fire already infiltrated his armor. Smoke curled from the clasps as he fumbled hopelessly with them.

Scrambling for the dagger, she lunged and tore it deeply across his throat. Blood poured down her hand as he slid down the wall, thrashing but unable to make a sound. His mouth filled with blood as he spluttered and finally, died.

Thalia wiped the sweat and blood from her face with a trembling hand, her other reaching for her bruised neck. The adrenaline from the fight leached from her, leaving her with a bruised, bloody body and only fear for the bizarre power that had manifested yet again when she sorely needed it. If it hadn't been there for her, it was clear she would've been dead. This time, though, she had a name for it.

She had seen Gorion practice the spell before and remembered how it fascinated Imoen. It was what wizards called  _Burning Hands_.

While wizards studied for many years to unlock arcane secrets and warlocks brokered agreements with fiends for their power, sorcerers, much like tieflings, had the blood of demons, dragons, or even worse in their veins and could use magic innately. They were also rarer than diamonds and alternatively feared and loathed in polite society. The idea terrified her and brought a vile taste to her mouth. Sorcerers' childhoods were always plagued by odd happenings but nothing came to mind for herself. At least, not since Gorion had brought her to Candlekeep as a small child.

A small whimper distracted her.

"Please… please don't kill me," a small, thin voice begged. It was the second mage.

Thalia turned to him. He looked even younger than she had first thought, younger than her. His black hair was long and untamed, his green eyes glassy. He lay on the ground, cowering against the back wall, hand out-stretched, his other clutching his ribs. Blood burbled from his mouth and he coughed, his body wracking with the pain as a wet bubbling hiss came from his wound. She didn't have the heart to tell him he was already dead, unless she convinced Viconia or Jaheira to use one of their healing spells on an outlaw.

"Tazok," she started, her throat parched and dry. Her broken nose thickened her voice. "Tazok hired assassins to go after someone. I need to know who told him to do that."

The wizard got to his knees and riffled through the chests again, crying out in pain as he moved. "I-I know it's here somewhere," he said nervously. "Ah-ha!" The wizard extracted a bundle of parchment held together with a metal clip. He held it out as a white flag, his hand shaking violently.

She snatched it and flipped through them, leaving bloody fingerprints on the edges. Letters. Addressed from someone called Daeve to Tazok, dating back many months. Daeve had been giving orders to the bandits of the Woods of Sharp Teeth.

"Who's Daeve?"

The wizard licked his lips, his eyes filled with grief. "M-My brother," he confessed. "If you, too, suffer for my cowardice, then… I am sorry. He lives because I was too weak-hearted to kill him when I had the chance. So… so many have died at his hands, including our own father... I had heard he found service to some bandits and followed them here." He hung his head and coughed again. "It… hasn't gone as I planned."

"Is that him?" said Thalia gently, pointing to the dead wizard next to him.

The mage shook his head. "Oh Mystra, no. I don't know where he's hiding."

Thalia turned again to the letters, searching for another name or a description of a hideaway. "Can't you think of anything?" she pleaded. "The house of a friend, a lover, another station of bandits? A family home, even."

The mage shook his head again in dismay. "Our family once had an iron mine, but it was abandoned when we were children. The woods grew too danger—"

"An iron mine?" She stopped looking through the files, a dawning hope rising in her again. "Do you remember where it is?"

"D-D-Deep in the Cloakwoods," the mage said. The flow of blood that came from between his fingers started to slow. His pale skin shone with sweat and the effort of staying conscious. "Just by the Chointhar River, o-o-on the coast."

Thalia knelt down before him, a hard stone of guilt settling in her. "I will kill him for you," she promised.

The grief in the mage's face lessened slightly, but the pain only increased as he coughed again, struggling to draw breath. "T-Thank you."

A few moments later, Daeve's nameless young brother passed away. She closed his eyes and laid his body in a more comfortable position, turning her back on the corpse she had made.

She crossed to the still-bleeding Tazok and wrenched her sword from his back. As he no longer fought, it didn't take very long but he still whimpered deeply in pain. She cringed as she had to saw it against his bones to free the blade.

Taking another look back at Daeve's brother, Thalia winced and felt her throat thicken. The innocent man's death put a sour taste in her mouth, but on the other hand, she was also rather pleased she didn't have to explain to Khalid and Jaheira where she was going next. The Sword Coast's iron bandits had been dealt with, but the trail of Gorion's murderer had not yet grown cold.

**)*(**

Jaheira and Khalid were positively thrilled — or, at least, Khalid was. Jaheira still raged about the forest fire Imoen nearly started with that wayward fireball. Nevermind Jaheira had taken the ten minutes to cast a thunderstorm spell to extinguish all the flames —  _in the middle of combat_. Khalid had chuckled good-naturedly at that. He was far more focused on the fact they had completed their mission. When they returned to the Friendly Arm, they could write to the Harpers and tell them of it all and iron could flow back through the Coast.

The bandit camp had so little loot it was nearly suspicious, but Jaheira considered it no bother. Many times, bandits pawned magic items for fractions of their value in order to frivol away their stolen coin on drink and prostitutes, and there certainly were more than enough empty drink bottles around.

It was clear from the various letters between Tazok and Tranzig they had recovered that Tazok had grand plans of ruling all the Sword Coast with an iron fist, using mercenaries bought with his gold as well as beasts — such as kobolds, hobgoblins, and gnolls — bought with fear to sack merchants and travelers, to control the flow of quality iron around the Sword Coast. For many months, he had even succeeded. At least, until the Harpers started meddling. The letters from Daeve felt heavy in Thalia's pack and their words heavier still, but she kept her silence when Jaheira asked if there were any more.

While Imoen and Thalia rifled through the pockets of some of the dead bandits, they spotted Edwin as he lurked at the edge of the clearing. He watched them in a way that made Thalia very uneasy and she hurried them both into the tent. Despite his elementals' contribution to the fight, he still had no interest in the goodwill he was beginning to accumulate yet again.

Unwilling to brave the dark woods and the freezing thunderstorm on the long walk back to Larswood, as Jaheira didn't have a spell prepared to clear the weather, they took one of the few untouched bandit tents for their own. Jaheira and Viconia patched up the fighters as best they could, washing away the blood and mending the bruised bones and organs. After a brief meal, battle fatigue wore into them and they celebrated their victory with the rest of the bandit's booze that hadn't gone up in flames. Talk slowly turned to the future.

"I suspect the Harpers will have another mission for us," said Jaheira in a knowing voice. "Sending us off to some other land to fix someone else's problems."

"Y-You're all w-welcome to come along," said Khalid, smiling particularly at Viconia. "There are a f-few drow in the Harpers."

She took a cautionary sip from the bottle in her lap. "I appreciate the offer," she said. "But, if you wouldn't mind, I believe I have repaid the debt I gained when you slayed that mercenary who sought my death. I would rather find a quiet home, someplace I might find peace and bury the past." Viconia returned the smile a little sadly and drank deeper.

"I believe Minsc and I would like to stay with you," said Dynaheir, putting a hand on Minsc's large leg. " _Dejemma_  often leads one into the arms of unexpected friends and the works of the Old Sage's Harpers seems as fine a place as any to continue."

Minsc beamed. "Boo might not be big enough to hold a harp yet, but he, too, will continue to fight evil and outlaws wherever they may be found!" Hearing his name, the hamster crawled from his home in Minsc's leather sash and sniffed around for more dinner. With a fond look, Minsc broke off a piece of cheese which the creature nibbled on excitedly.

"Uh… 'yet', Minsc?" asked Imoen with a smirk.

"Well, he's not done growing, of course," scoffed Minsc. "One day, Boo will grow into a mighty warhamster, large enough to ride into battle." He patted the hamster with his hand so hard its poor legs buckled.

Beset by the giggles, Imoen turned her face into Thalia's shoulder to quiet them but Thalia could barely hold hers back either.

"And what of you two?" asked Jaheira, her smile not entirely innocent as she turned to the young girls. "I'm sorry we haven't been able to find Gorion's killer, Thalia." The mention of her father dampened their spirits considerably and the room felt heavier for it.

"I'll come with you," promised Imoen, sitting up a little more straightly. "We still haven't seen any dragons yet."

"For your own sake, I hope we don't," said Dynaheir with a chuckle. "Dragons are not kobolds or outlaws, Imoen, but fierce magical beasts that may level entire cities in an instant. In many cultures, they're called the 'old gods' for a reason."

Jaheira held Thalia's eye as Minsc bravely defended the moral disposition of dragons. Swallowing heavily, Thalia imperceptibly shook her head. No, she wouldn't be continuing with them. Jaheira sighed and said, "We will talk later," in a quiet voice so as to not disturb the others.

Thalia drained the rest of her bottle, an anxious grief welling inside her at the thought of leaving Imoen behind. She could already hear Jaheira's arguments, that the armored figure was a very dangerous foe and likely to kill her, that they would be stronger in a group, that they too were Gorion's friends and had earned the right to hunt down his murderer. But it was of no concern to her. No matter how many lucky breaks they had gotten, one of these days, one of them would die in a manner no priest could raise them from, and she refused to have it on her conscious.

Thalia had already made up her mind. She would hunt the armored figure alone.

**)*(**

Before she even opened her eyes, a tingling anticipation of fear crawled over her flesh. Peeking at the dreamscape before her, Thalia was surprised to see the smoking bandit camp. The feared and fabled highwaymen that had plagued the entire coast were as dust beneath her. Gruesome faces and corpses of men long since dead watched her with glassy eyes as she strode through their camp, bloodied weapons in hand.

She took another step, anticipating the level ground, but the earth opened up without warning into a long deep pit. Her stomach plummeted. She screamed as she fell, her weapons tumbling past her as she desperately clawed at the dirt sides, but nothing could slow her descent.

She landed with an impossibly gentle  _thump_ , flat on her back in a musty corridor of stone bricks. There was the sound of scraping stone and the bricks above her head moved together to seal the tunnel she had fallen through, closing with a deafening silence.

Rolling to her knees, she coughed at the dust and cobwebs of the narrow tunnel. Once she stumbled to her feet, the torches bolted to the wall lit with a warm fire, illuminating her passage down the dark corridor to the left. It appeared as the low tunnel of a castle dungeon, but one disused for a great many years. Cobwebs stretched across the ceiling and the stone was covered in a layer of dust. But there were many footprints in the dust, of all sorts of shapes and sizes, from the smallest halfling, to the barefooted half-orc who had run down the corridor at full tilt. Regardless of their shape, they had all begun from the place where she had fallen, and they all went the same direction. The tunnel continued far to her right, but it stayed imposingly dark, its torches unlit.

Scrambling for her fallen weapons, she kept them close at hand and followed the footprints. Every footfall echoed off the cold stone until it sounded like a marching army. The rustling of her own armor made Thalia spin around more than once, scanning the impenetrable darkness for the beast who would devour her. At last, the hallway ended in a short stairway but it brought no relief from her clawing fear.

Whatever Thalia had expected, it certainly hadn't been this and she lowered her weapons in surprise. The stairs rose into what was surely once a grand entrance hall, though it had long fallen victim to abandonment. Faded rugs and tattered banners ran up the aisle to a chair. Upon closer inspection, it was roughly forged of a hundred swords, blood still crusted on their blades as they were bent and broken to serve as a throne. Behind the chair was a thick and heavy crest. The red and gold smiling skull watched over its court. Along the walls, similar tall, slender windows let in a dim red light. The world outside was not of Faerun, but of the deep Outer Planes. The skies were blood red and filled with roiling stormclouds, the trees dead and barren as the rest of the lands. In the far distance, a shapeless haze of new souls crawled over a swampland tinged with decay. The Grey Marshes.

Turning from the windows with a shudder, Thalia continued to follow the footprints up the grand staircase, where the torches continued to glow. Rather than rich oil paintings and weapons on plaques, the halls were lined with impossibly life-like marble statues of a whole host of different sorts of people. While everything else of the castle seemed to fall to ruin, the statues were nearly in perfect condition. Still, not half the spaces had been filled. Several had been smashed in their spaces, a fine marble dust coating the larger chunks that were still recognisable as body parts.

Many of the alcoves were empty, but they still bore names. Their nameplates were written in a myriad of languages. The statues were carved in all creeds and races: dwarves, halflings, elves, humans, gnomes, tieflings, and half-orcs were but a few she recognised, dressed and armed in a thousand professions.

One nameplate near her was carved in Common, and she understood perfectly well. Her heart stopped as she read the name.

Thalia, Ward of Gorion

The alcove above the name was empty. She looked at all the incredibly life-like statues and she backed away in terror. The swords trembled in her hands. But it was too late. The torches illuminating her way back had blown themselves out and none more lit her way forward. This was the end of the road.

Bit by bit, the alcove began to fill itself with the echoing rumble and grind of stone. Thalia couldn't tear her eyes off it as the stone slowly built an image in her likeness, exact to the smallest detail. The worn leather straps of her right pauldron, the eagle-handled dagger thrust into the front of belt, the crooked bend of an improperly healed broken nose. But the face in stone was far calmer, nobler, and colder than Thalia herself felt. It had its hand on the longsword at its hip, staring off into the far distance with a threatening calm and stillness.

As soon as the alcove had filled, a voice echoed through the hall, as malevolent as the darkness it had come from.

 _Such pride undeserved, great conqueror, when your whole being is borrowed… You were_ made  _as you are and you can also be broken…_

The statue-Thalia smiled with the grinding of stone, her eyes glowing a dark gold as she looked down at her own likeness, and reached out a single white hand in offer.


	14. Chapter 13: The Father's Daughter

Eyes thrust open but unseeing, Thalia felt a multitude of hands on her arms and shoulders, holding her down. She thrashed against them violently, fighting to get free of the stone statue. She shrieked once more, a scream that trailed off into a choked sob.

Taking ahold of the first arm she could, Thalia started to cry, then unabashedly sob into Jaheira's chest, while the half-elf stroked her hair and let her come back to reality.

"B-Battle can sometimes have strange effects on p-people."

"It's just nightmares, it happens every now and then."

"Those must be some particularly foul nightmares."

"Even Minsc has bad dreams sometimes."

"How long have the dreams plagued you?"

"Questions can wait until the morning," said Jaheira with a final authority.

There was some scuffling and rearranging of bedrolls as everyone returned to sleep. Thalia's sobs slowly subsided, leaving behind a childish shame and lingering fear.

Jaheira released the hug slightly, leading Thalia outside. She coughed, the bitter cold air assaulting her lungs. Jaheira's summoned thunderstorm had ended some hours before, the fresh earthy smells of the forest only just obscuring the stench of burnt hair and dead bodies.

Staring into the woods, she flinched as the rustling bushes sounded like the shifting of stone. The shadows danced with clawed hands in the flicker of firelight and the glint of weapons were eyes in the dark, staring at her.

"I—I think I'm going mad," said Thalia in a forced calm voice.

"You have been through a lot in a very short amount of time," allowed Jaheira. "Despite what the songs say, beginning a life of violence on the road, even in the name of honourable and just causes, is not easy and it wears on the soul."

"Then, what about Imoen?" asked Thalia, regretting her words the moment they left her lips.

Jaheira sighed and paused. "She struggles, too, in her own ways," she said.

Thalia was stunned. None of them had been sleeping well — not many could on the road — but that Imoen struggled and didn't tell her was almost unthinkable. Then again, Thalia hadn't exactly been wholly honest to her.

"Before Khalid and I accept another assignment from the Harpers," continued Jaheira in the same steady, calm voice, "we will find peace and give you both some more time to heal from Gorion's passing. I don't know what you have in mind, but I'm not going to let you wander off by yourself. Not for Gorion's sake, but for your own."

Struck by Jaheira's words, Thalia couldn't speak past the lump in her throat. She could only nod.

Jaheira patted Thalia on the back with a lingering hand. "If that is settled, then perhaps we can return to the Friendly Arm in the morning and leave the business of ghouls and outlaws behind us for now, yes?"

Thalia nodded again. Satisfied, Jaheira steered them back into the tent. As they settled back into their beds, Thalia wondered if time away from fighting would really be enough to end the nightmares.

**)*(**

It was well into the afternoon before they managed to leave the bandit camp in mostly functioning condition. Jaheira had prepared all the healing spells she could muster, but they still wandered off into the Woods of Sharp Teeth with some painful deep bruises. Jaheira and Khalid managed to put them back on a narrow trail of sorts that wove through the woods and required only minimal climbing over roots and brush. According to Khalid, this road would drop them off at Ulgoth's Beard, a small farming and fishing settlement outside Baldur's Gate and a short walk north of the Arm, where they would bid farewell to Viconia.

There were still a handful of nights to be spent among the dark woods, but with the promise of a warm bed and a peaceful rest not far away, Thalia slept easily for the first time in what felt like forever.

One morning as they marched down the long trail, Thalia could see wider patches of sunlight through the dense foliage, as the trees broke into a larger clearing up ahead. The sparkling white ruins of an crumbling elven temple appeared through the branches, decorated with cursed gemstones and gold leaf, which had survived the millennia little worse for wear. A campfire had been lit and was churning away smoke before a handful of bedrolls. A flicker of scarlet banners through the bushes and the sound of many cheerful voices.

Jaheira and Khalid parted to bushes to help the others through, but someone came running up the path behind them. Jaheira shook her head dismissively when she saw who it was. Thalia turned, surprised and slightly disturbed to see Edwin run up the trail. She had half-forgotten about him and had assumed he was no longer following, but of course he was.

Slightly out of breath, he put his hand on her arm, gripping it tight. "Follow my lead and we might survive this," he whispered. Though it easily could have been a threat, it didn't sound as such. In fact, his eyes were wide and lips drawn into what Thalia would think was fear, had she not known any better. "Go on, they'll know I'm here already," he said, resigned, as he waved her into the clearing and they stepped through.

The flashes of scarlet through the trees weren't banners but robes and instantly Thalia understood Edwin's concern. Her heart raced. Red Wizards. Five of them had made camp around the temple ruins, with an additional eight similarly tattooed warriors standing guard in highly formal and robed steel armor that bore a glowing magical script. A team of powerful armored warhorses were tied at the cracked pillars of the ruin.

If Thalia had thought Edwin's appearance garish and excessive, it was nothing compared to the bizarre collection of mages before her. Rather than the solid red of his cloth, these wizards were garbled in stiff high collared robes that bore curtains of shimmering runes, almost identical to the tattoos on their flesh. The ink followed over their faces as well and, in some places, was so densely writ the skin appeared black. The wrists and necks of each of them were weighed down by a variety of golden bangles and pendants, which chimed quietly as they got ready for their day.

Delicate elven symbols as slight as spiderthread whirled across one bald woman's cheek and forehead as though a royal mask. When she caught sight of the travelers, they twisted with a smile that, much like Edwin's, didn't touch her eyes.

"Hail, travelers," she called. She quickly found her fellow Red Wizard and spoke to him. "Odesseiron, I did not expect to see you so soon. I hope your business has gone well of late."

She had a soft, dangerous voice with an accent even thicker than Edwin's. She chuckled as she sized up the rest of the company and her smile turned vindictive. She took up a carved red wood quarterstaff and walked over to the party.

"Oh, but what is this?" she said deliciously. "You are not nearly as useless as I have reported to Nevron time and again. You are far worse! What would he say if he heard you travel with Rashemi? Have you no shame? Has your stay in these barbaric lands softened your wits even further?"

The confrontation drew the attention of the armored guards, who seemed deeply amused to see her tear into Edwin.

Risking her eyes off the other Red Wizards, Thalia turned to Edwin. His fear was expertly hidden, replaced by what was surely a well-used mask of subservience. He bowed so low his nose almost touched his knees. "My most illustrious Daeroness Bellini," he said smoothly with what sounded almost like respect. "I have devised a scheme worthy of your most exquisite and unparalleled intellect. Indulge me but for a moment—"

"Silence," she said lazily, waving her hand at him. A rune on her finger glowed for a moment and Edwin choked on his tongue. Bellini sighed and rolled her eyes sharply, sharing a sneer with one of her fellow mages before saying, "Let me guess. Instead of slaying the witch, you've captured her for questioning?" She waved a second time and Edwin righted himself, wincing as the spell was removed from him.

"I knew such a woman of your vast abilities would take a single moment to see to the core of my cunning ruse," said Edwin, his ears reddening.

Dynaheir shared a brief word with Jaheira and Minsc, which Bellini didn't miss. Crossing over to her, the Thayvian met the Rashemi's eye with nothing less than mutual burning loathing.

"And your purpose in the Sword Coast?" demanded Bellini.

Dynaheir stayed silent.

" _Dejemma_ ," supplied Edwin. "Daeroness," he added as Bellini turned the same look to him.

Bellini's smile widened further as she relished her accusation. "You simple wretched fool. She is not even yet a Hathran, let alone of any worth as to interrogation or imprisonment."

Edwin bowed his head, lips pursed in thought. Thalia could hear the gears turning in his head. The rest of the group waited with bated breath for his next words. Jaheira evaluated the other mages, if there was to be a fight, but her face betrayed her concerns. Thalia thought, somehow, that it would be a very short battle and not in their favour at all. She put a trembling hand back on the hilt of her sword.

"Then I do so apologize, my illustrious Daeroness," said Edwin finally. "I hope you accept my apology and, with it, the execution of the Rashemi and her collaborators here so that my most distinguished superiors and your fine self might be entertained by their deaths."

Her heart skipped a beat.

"NOO!" bellowed Minsc, drawing his blade.

Bellini dismissively waved two fingers at him, her bangle chimed with a single pure note as he froze mid-action, his face twisted in a look of hurt rage.

Thalia could practically hear Viconia's warning to her all those nights ago, to never trust him for his loyalty was held by the Red Wizards. While she could imagine him leaving them behind to die, so effortlessly handing them off a sure death was heartless, even for him.

Edwin took his eyes off his commander and looked at Thalia with something approaching desperation. There was a tense second of silence and the feeling of betrayal only mounted as Thalia realised what Edwin wanted her to do.

_Follow my lead and we might survive this…_

She cast one more look at the Red Wizards and their guards and remembered how quickly Edwin had disabled them all in the gnoll stronghold, how they had won only through dumb luck. And now, facing his superiors, there was no doubt in Thalia's mind. Dynaheir and Minsc were going to die but the rest didn't have to. Jaheira and Khalid could go on and do good works for the Harpers. Viconia could find peace on the surface. Thalia could have her vengeance on the armored figure. Imoen didn't have to die.

No matter what else he was or had done or for what shadowy motivations, he had given them a way out.

Thalia forced a smile and then a shrill, hysterical laugh that went on too long. "Oh, Edwin, you are such a joker," she said, reaching for his arm as though to steady herself. If this didn't work, she was determined to be the one to finally kill him. "C-Collaborators? You know we all came to ensure the witch was killed in the most... entertaining way. Isn't that right?"

Although not particularly amused by her display, the desperation left his face, to be replaced by a look of relief and perhaps even respect. If he would manage to swallow his pride for a moment, she thought he might've even thanked her.

"Your rugged companion here awaits an answer," said Bellini. "Do you concede to having the most pathetic sense of humour this side of the Spine of the World?" She fixed Thalia with the same look of condemnation and she withered before it.

"Absolutely—" Jaheira started hotly.

Viconia acted more quickly than Thalia could've expected. She smashed one of her clerical spell vials on the ground with a whispered command in drow. From the shattered components, a bolt of white light forked and struck both Jaheira and Khalid in the chest and they collapsed, their limbs and faces falling slack. Dynaheir screamed and clasped her hand over her mouth. As Jaheira's eyes closed, Thalia felt her heart shatter. Had Viconia truly killed them so effortlessly?

Bellini looked at the veiled elf curiously but Edwin gained her attention again before she could scrutinize the half-elves. A delicate warmth of magic flowed through Thalia but she couldn't determine a source or purpose to it. Bellini and the other Red Wizards' faces betrayed nothing.

"My esteemed Ulokir can surely see that one has to occasionally elevate the spirits of even the most simple underlings," Edwin explained, bowing again in apology. "The joke was for the barbarian protectors that follow me, not your noble ears. Now, to prove such fealty, we will do battle with the Rashemi in the most...  _entertaining_  of fashions." He gave Thalia a conspiratorial smile that made her flesh crawl.

"Very well, then," Bellini said in a tired voice. She waved her hand again and Minsc fell forwards onto the grass. The other Red Wizards and their guards stood to the side, some of them chatting to each other as they watched, a cold excitement in their faces.

"This is how you are to reward my loyalty!" shouted Dynaheir, backing up, her eyes on the other Red Wizards. As she gathered her senses, she prepared a spell.

But Thalia didn't have time to pay any attention to Dynaheir's spellcasting, as her vision was taken up by a seven foot tall Rashemi berserker. Minsc brought his sword down time and again in a wild rage, cursing and yelling in Rashemi, slashing as Thalia jumped backwards. It whistled as it cut clean through the air, missing her by inches. The icy winds of the blade's magic sent shivers down her spine.

At last, she felt herself pressed back into a tree and was forced to parry his attack. As their blades connected, Thalia felt the force of the impact through her trembling arms. The cold traveled through her blades into her fingers, numbing her grip as she held the parry. He raised the sword again but she dodged under it and found herself behind him.

Then, she saw it. An opening. She could've stabbed him in the ribs, her blade finding purchase under the interlocking plates of studded leather armor. But she couldn't bring herself to do it.

He wasn't her enemy here.

Minsc spun around to face her again, but was knocked clean off his feet by an incredible force, a trio of arrows protruding from his side. They weren't arrows of metal and wood, but magic. Translucent but made from living fire, they scalded and pierced deeply. He struggled to stand, leaning on a large rock and then his sword for support. The rage faded from him, replaced by a confused pain that hurt Thalia far more.

Thalia glanced over to Edwin, who seemed mightily pleased with himself. It didn't last long, though. Dynaheir finished her own spell and shot four bolts of pink light that threw him across the clearing, turning head over heels before he landed face-first with a groan.

The Thayvians applauded for the Rashemi witch, some hooted, and Bellini even smiled.

"Kill the damned warrior," shouted Edwin as he stood. Furious, he ripped the single amulet from his neck and dropped it with an incantation. The bright ruby cracked and from within burst three red dragons, each no larger than a hound. They flapped above the clearing with shrill roars, circling down on Dynaheir who quickly cast a shimmery protective globe to stave off the dragonfire and their sharp maws.

"Thalia…" whispered Minsc in disbelief. He used the sword to stand, leaning on it like a cane.

Feeling the eyes of all the Red Wizards and their guards on her, she knocked the sword out from under him. He fell to the ground with a thump and a gasp she could feel. If she offered him a hand to stand, it would likely end their entertainment and they would all die here.

Trembling, she fit the tip of her sword at the gap where the neck guard met the cuirass. But she couldn't drive it through. Her breath caught in her throat and tears burned down her face. He looked up to meet her eyes, confused and wounded. A deep aching pain coiled behind her fingers and a small blue-white bolt of light traveled down the tip of her blade and disappeared down his collar.

Thalia panicked as she saw the light and unbidden magic, fearing the worst, but there was no need. An even greater confusion came over Minsc. His breathing began to level again and, as he pawed at his side, the magical fire arrows had vanished, leaving no trace of injury behind. Thalia stepped back, torn between relief and a compounding fear. Minsc got to his feet unsteadily, taking one step, then another, before a smile spread across his face and he chuckled.

"Minsc knew Thalia did not want to kill him," he said. "Now, let Minsc deal with these rude wizards."

He brushed past her, greatsword in hand, as he turned to Dynaheir and Edwin. They were locked in a vicious magic duel. Each time one cast a spell, the other wasn't far behind. Their magic collided mid-air in a shower of sparks and liquid light, roaring with a sound like thunder. Though Dynaheir managed to hold him off, his spells inched closer and closer. The small dragons hissed and distracted her, tearing cracks in her protective bubble, and drawing blood with their claws. Her robes were torn and bloodied, but her face remained calm and determined as she stood her ground.

"DYNAHEIR!" bellowed Minsc, shoving past Thalia.

One of the wizards turned a ring on his finger. The boulder Minsc had leant against a moment before instantly exploded into shrapne. A hundred daggers of stone launched into the air, raining over the clearing. Thalia heard Imoen yelp in pain and fear from somewhere off in the woods. Imoen's cry brought Thalia back to the grim matter at hand.

She tapped Minsc's greatsword with her own weapon. "You're—you're not gonna help her." The voice that came from her didn't even sound like hers.

It took him a second to process what she had said. Once he did, Minsc whipped around and brought down his sword where her shoulder had been a moment before. Summoning her courage, Thalia slashed with both blades. He managed to parry one but not the other. The second cut through the top layer of leather, exposing the stiff padding underneath.

Minsc returned to the fight in earnest anger, controlling his deadly overhead attacks and sweeping sideways with the blade to push Thalia further away. But, even as she circled him, her mind found the chinks in his defence, the vulnerable patches of skin, and soon, Minsc found himself bleeding from several cuts.

Had she had any sense left, tears would've continued to fall down her face but Thalia couldn't feel anything. Her heart and mind shut down. All she heard was Imoen's shrill scream of fear and pain as it echoed in her ears. Her body reacted independently of her mind, watching for Minsc's footwork and the tensing of his muscles when he attacked, the brief windows of opportunity to take before they were sliced shut.

At each twist and turn of the battle, the Red Wizards and their guards made themselves an amicable crowd, groaning and clapping politely as they saw fit. It made her sick.

Minsc shouted wordlessly. He pushed her further and further back until she found herself cornered against the pillars of the elven temple. He stabbed forwards with his blade. Desperate, Thalia caught it in the cross of her swords but the tip still hovered before her stomach. She could feel the biting aura of cold. Her own blades grew foggy, then frosty. Her arms shook with the strain of holding back Minsc's strength. The tip of his sword wavered and found its way between two steel plates, ready to gouge her insides. Thalia had a vision of Gorion, his body left in the hot sun, split open from groin to collarbone. She used all her strength to spin the blade to the right. Briefly, the blade dug deeper, drawing blood, searing frostbite, and she shouted with pain.

Minsc fumbled his grip for only a moment, but Thalia swatted his hands with the edge of her sword and he dropped his weapon entirely, crying as she hit the bones. The greatsword's edge tore the hole in her wider as it fell, her blood steaming on the frozen blade. Before his weapon clattered against the crumbling stonework, Thalia thrust her longsword up and into Minsc's unprotected chest.

He gasped in surprise. Emotions flitted over his face as he fell to his knees. Blood flowed down the hilt and her hand until she could stand it no more and she let go. Groaning with pain, he pulled it out of him, but only more blood poured from the wound. He sat back against the crumbling white pillar, his face greying with shock and blood loss. A small muffled squeak came from the sling across his chest. Somehow, Boo had escaped harm during the fight and padded with great concern over to Minsc's face, sniffing at the blood that stained his lips.

A sob broke through Thalia's chest as she picked up her sword from where Minsc had dropped it. It almost seemed to glow with the tainted blood that dripped from the blade. A measure of feeling began to come back to her but it was quickly swallowed by an all consuming guilt and grief as she watched the warrior comfort his hamster in his final moments.

Thalia turned her back on Minsc and looked to the mages, who continued to battle, though only barely. Dynaheir was all but beaten, her shimmering sphere of protection pulsing weakly against the dragons that beat at it. As Thalia slowly made her way back to them, her hand clutching the wound in her stomach, she watched with disinterest as Edwin's next spell shattered Dynaheir's protection with a threatening crackle of lightning. Another motion, another component, and a powerful gust of wind knocked Dynaheir back into the side of a tree with the force of a battering ram, where she crumpled to the ground.

Bellini clapped sarcastically, the other wizards rather more politely.

Exhausted from the magical battle, Edwin wobbled slightly and bowed. "Thank you, glorious Daeroness Bellini, and my esteemed commanders, for this wondrous opportunity…"

Thalia crossed the clearing as Edwin began to bid farewell to his superiors. Dynaheir stirred feebly under the tree, a trickle of blood running down her scalp and onto her face. Just as exhausted as Edwin, she looked up at Thalia without fear, only a dire sadness and plain resignation to her fate.

Dynaheir nodded, tears in her eyes. "You are truly your father's daughter," she said gently.

Bitter anger rose at the petty insult of Gorion and Thalia stabbed the dying witch through the chest without a second thought. Dynaheir gave a soft cry before falling completely limp.

Tears began to fall unbidden from Thalia's eyes. She knelt to withdraw Varscona but her hands slid off it. She couldn't find the strength to pull it from her. In death, Dynaheir's face was calm and determined, her hair scorched from the battle and wet with blood from where her head hit the tree.

With shaking hands, Thalia slid the woman onto her back and lay her arms at her side. Though her hair was wild from the magic in the air, she tucked it behind Dynaheir's ears and passed a hand over her face, smoothing the expression to one of peace.

Behind her, the Red Wizards laughed.

"It seems you truly are too useless even to dispose of a single Rashemi," said Bellini softly. "As… entertaining as this was, I feel you have overstayed your welcome."

A few moments later, after more excessive flattery, Edwin grabbed Thalia firmly by the arm. He pointed at the sword lodged in Dynaheir's chest and it flew out with the force of a launched arrow and a sickening wet noise. Catching it, he fitted it to her sheathe and directed them back onto the path which they had come from. She stumbled along at his side until he pushed her through the bushes. She blinked back at the sudden darkness of the woods but before anything came into focus, she was assaulted by a fierce hug and the sound of sobbing.

Hours passed in a numb blur.

"She—She's bleeding."

"That's a lot of blood."

"It's not hers."

"Some of it is, you fool. Look."

A brief warmth, like stepping into a patch of sunlight.

"Right, we must leave before they grow suspicious. This borrowed time will not last long."

"We can't leave without Khalid and Jaheira!"

"Unfortunately, it was simply a command spell and they will awaken in handful of hours. How long will the wizards remain?"

"I don't know anymore than you do! Does it appear we are friends, drow? Consider yourself lucky half of us have survived."

"My survival is of my own making, rivven, do not forget this."

"W-We should give them a proper burial — M-Minsc and D-Dyna…"

"No one is returning to that clearing! Or are you deaf as well as simple, you silly girl?"

"Oh, are you frightened by your superiors?"

"If you had any measure of common sense, greyskin, you would be, too."

"But… Dynaheir…"

"By the glories of Thay, if you are so damned concerned about learning magic, I will teach you myself!"

"No, you won't," said Thalia in a hollow voice. She raised her hopeless eyes to meet Edwin's. "You will follow us out of these woods and, once at the Friendly Arm, we will part ways. And I never want to see you again."

His brow furrowed and he almost seemed surprised. "If anything, I would think you wanted to thank me," he said.

"Thank you?" repeated Thalia, outraged. She stood up, knocking the grief-struck Imoen to the ground in her haste. "I-I  _murdered_  two people I considered friends and you think I want to  _thank you_  for the opportunity?"

He hissed at her to be quiet, casting his eyes uneasily over in the direction of the clearing. They had settled a makeshift camp not quite far enough away to settle their nerves in hopes of the half-elves returning. Thalia could still see the smoke of the Red Wizards' campfire.

"To the Bitch Queen with you," cursed Thalia with disgust, sitting back down.

He waited until he had her full attention and met her with a steady gaze, a hint of his superiors' withering mockery crawling into his eyes. "I never told you to kill them."

At that, a powerful anger rose within her to take the place of her unspoken grief, coiled in her chest like a predator waiting to spring. "If I wake up in the morning and see you in our camp, I will kill you," said Thalia seriously.

Edwin gave a dark smile. "The witch spoke of your father, didn't she?"

Thalia felt herself grow cold. Gorion was the only father she had ever known, having brought her into Candlekeep as a free-running toddler, but he had not sired her. She had assumed Dynaheir had insulted Thalia by comparing her treachery to Gorion's pure heart but as she met Edwin's unwavering gaze, she knew that wasn't the case.

"W-What's he talking about, Lia?" sniffled Imoen. She clung even more closely to Thalia as she looked between them, worried.

"I don't want anything from you," swore Thalia. "No more threats, no more taunts, I don't care for them and I will not ask you."

"Then, I suppose when we return to the Friendly Arm, we will be saying our farewells," said Edwin, completely under the impression she would relent.

"I suppose so," said Thalia, fully convinced she would not.

**)*(**

Thalia woke up to a hushed argument in the middle of the night. For a brief moment, she forgot about the previous day and before the words made sense to her, she thought Viconia was arguing with the half-elves again about breakfast. She dearly missed her gruesome Underdark food.

"I d-don't believe it."

"She slayed them both, though the wizard had quite the battle with Dynaheir from what I saw. It involved fey dragons."

"We should've stayed and fought!"

A cold laugh. "You're mad, rivven. It was the only course of action, we all would've died elsewise."

"I'm sur-surprised the Red Wizards b-bought her lie."

"I doubt they did. I recognised the  _Detect Thoughts_  spell, but they enjoyed it, regardless. All the more so that it was a lie and she was fighting allies."

"And  _you_?"

"Because you saved my life from the mercenary, I returned yours to you — though you seemed perfectly happy to throw them away. My debt is paid and I will shed no tears to see your backs. Once the Red Wizards all looked to Thalia and Edwin, I took Imoen and hurried her back to the trail. A few Rashemi here and there, they didn't care. It was all a matter of sport to them, mocking their lower ranking Red Wizard and drinking in Thalia's—oh, Thalia."

Thalia had sat up looked at Khalid and Jaheira mournfully. "I… I don't have words, really, to explain how sorry I am," she said with tears in her eyes.

"I-I-I know," said Khalid in a thick voice. "Viconia was t-t-telling us."

But the way they looked at her, Thalia had a feeling her invitation to join the Harpers had just been revoked. Jaheira and Khalid, who had been such firm friends to both her and her father, looked at her as though she were a dangerous beast. Wary, and fearful, and filled with a grief they didn't want to share with her.

"When did you get back?" asked Thalia dully.

Jaheira looked back at the Red Wizards' camp. "A few minutes ago. Luckily, when we woke up, the camp was asleep and we managed to get away."

"And what of… what of their bodies?" asked Thalia, remembering Imoen's wish to bury them last night. A dangerous hope of a priest's resurrection spell stirred in her.

Khalid and Jaheira shared an apprehensive look. It was Jaheira who answered, none too delicately, "Human organs, as opposed to those of half-elves, are apparently very rare spell and alchemical components. I would not suggest we return," she added stiffly. "Though I am tempted to borrow Imoen's Wand of Fire and roast those arrogant mooks while they sleep."

"Why? They didn't kill Minsc and Dynaheir," said Thalia bluntly.

"No," said Jaheira, almost as if to herself. "No, I suppose they didn't."

A heavy silence settled over them and Thalia felt all words turn to dust in her mouth as she looked into the pained faces of Khalid and Jaheira.

"Can you lead us out of these woods?" asked Viconia. "Best we put as much distance between these Red Wizards and us as we can."

Khalid gave one last sad look at the clearing but nodded. Viconia shook Imoen awake, roughly kicking Edwin in the side. Within the hour, the party continued on their way over the roots and dense bushes of the Woods of Sharp Teeth, this time, lacking two of their number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire fic was inspired by an exchange in the BG1 NPC mod, where, if you go into the clearing with the Red Wizards by the Woods of Sharp Teeth with Dynaheir, Minsc, and Edwin... this basically happens. It was my first hardcore RP playthrough of Baldur's Gate and completely defined my character at the time. Thank you for reading this far, and I hope you can forgive the deaths of Minsc and Boo (though even I don't forgive myself for poor Boo).


	15. Chapter 14: Friends Lost and Found

They walked by magical light all through the night and well into the morning, in a stony, grief-stricken silence, save for a few times Imoen could no longer hold in her sobs. Thalia was crushed by the guilt on her shoulders and the side-looks Jaheira and Khalid tried to conceal. Every glint, every speck of light in the darkness was Dynaheir's warm brown eyes, accusing, unfearing, accepting her inevitable death. As if she had expected it all along. Every time a wild rabbit or fox scampered through the undergrowth, she remembered Minsc, bidding farewell and assuring Boo not to fear. What would happen to the hamster? True rangers' companions took to the roads with an unnatural intelligence, guarding travelers when their masters died, but what of Boo?

When Thalia spotted the first break in the trees and first large patches of blue sky, she put a trembling hand on her blade, fearing it was another clearing full of dangerous foes. But all that lay beyond it was a farmer's field, sporting small green shoots in promise of bounties yet to come. A few low farmhouses sat between the large fields that stretched far into the horizon. A glittering blue river rushed in the distance.

"Ulgoth's Beard," announced Khalid in a dry voice, leading them around the fields and back onto the Golden Strait.

Soon, the great towers and secure walls of the Friendly Arm Inn crested over the trees and Thalia breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps, like Jaheira promised, she could find a measure of peace away from adventuring, at least for the time being, but she seriously doubted it. Daeve's letters sat heavily in her pack, nagging at her to check the Cloakwood mines.

Once they booked their rooms in the Friendly Arm, Jaheira and Khalid paid Thalia no heed. Their ignoring hurt more than if Jaheira had cursed her out. But, in a way, she agreed with their treatment and knew she deserved far worse. While she had once blamed herself for Gorion's death, it was truly her helplessness and the might of the armored figure that was to blame. For Dynaheir and Minsc's deaths, however, it was her sword that ended their lives, her words that set her against them in a desperate bid to save the rest of them. She had weighed their lives and judged them.

Her bones aching with exhaustion, she thought guilt would keep her up far later into the day, but she fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

**)*(**

Though the smiling skull did not plague her in the night and it was late into the following morning when she finally awoke, Thalia felt no more rested than she did the night before. Her dreams were far worse than the machinations of the smiling skull. Now, she had her memories to torture her once more. Her sleeping mind had spent hours mulling over Dynaheir's last words, the confused look of pain in Minsc's eyes, only to jerk her awake with tears and an ache wracking her chest before lulling her back to the clearing, the polite clapping of the Red Wizards, the threatening metallic hum of magic in the air, the cold of his sword, the pain in her stomach.

Thalia lay in bed most of the day, staring at the ceiling of her room, bereft of energy and willing her rushing mind to quiet. Bright sunlight streamed across the floor, the warm breeze reinforcing the coldness of her body. She thought she would enjoy the privacy off the road, the peace, but it only served to give her far too much time with herself.

She scratched the long crusted tears off her face and stood with a stiff groan. Though she had no appetite, she figured it would be best to eat something. Even if she couldn't face Jaheira and Khalid, Viconia still had plans to leave soon and she wanted to bid her farewell.

Just as Thalia stood up, however, she noticed the bird. A large black raven with glossy feathers and intelligent eyes sat on the windowsill, staring at her intently, as if it had waited for her.

Thalia scowled at it. "Shoo!" She waved her hands at it threateningly, a sign to all wildlife to leave humans alone. But the bird didn't seem to care. It shifted weight from foot to foot but didn't release its grip on the window. She lunged at it, but it still didn't move. She pulled shut the window, but the bird took off, flying off into the distance.

Suitably unnerved by the strange raven, Thalia changed and went downstairs to the barroom of the Friendly Arm. It was just as warm and cozy as it had been before. The trio of bards clustered around a table, discussing the performance later that night.

Thalia ordered a hard applejack cider and a slice of meat pie from the kitchens and found a quiet corner to sit. She scanned the bar fruitlessly, but none of the party were there. She picked at the pie's flaky crust, but emptied her tankard several times until a heady warmth and faint dizziness wove through her head. Soon, thoughts of the peculiar bird and the lingering faces of Dynaheir and Minsc faded from her mind.

As the sun began to sink over the sky, more patrons stumbled in for dinner and drink. Their conversations wafted over her as they heatedly debated the safety of the roads. Despite clearing the Nashkel Mines and killing Tazok and his band of merry men, merchant caravans were still being sacked, cutting off supply lines from Baldur's Gate.

Somewhere between the first tingle and her first slurred word, Thalia spotted Jaheira and Khalid make their way downstairs at last, Viconia not among them. They looked through the throngs of people before spotting her against the wall. She sighed, certain of what was to follow.

Khalid sat some distance away at the bar, trying and failing to make it look as though he wasn't watching them. Thalia had a sinking feeling he was only there to stop Jaheira if she began a tavern brawl. Judging from her face, Thalia wouldn't have been too terribly surprised if punches were exchanged.

Jaheira took the chair opposite, her face dark and lined. "Before I begin, Khalid has reminded me I ought to say that I don't blame you for the deaths of our friends. But, you have earned my friendship and therefore my respect and I do not wish to lie to you," she said flatly. "If we had never met those beastly Red Wizards, even if we had but Edwin was not among our number…" Jaheira sighed heavily, a deep sound of hopeless sadness as she trailed off. "It is regrettable, regardless who takes the blame for their deaths."

"I will," offered Thalia. She looked down into her empty tankard. "It's all I've been able to think of."

"What of friendship?" said Jaheira with something like sorrow in her voice. "As the sages agree, actions speak louder than words and friendship seems to mean about as much to you as the dirt on your boot."

"I don't have anything left!" said Thalia, hurt, her face flushing with indignity. "I've lost my home, my father, my  _life_. I have nothing left but my friends."

Jaheira sat back and considered, her face blank and unreadable. "Until friendship is inconvenient," she said at last.

"I was scared," she pleaded. "Haven't you done things you regret when you're afraid?"

"I've never turned on my friends," said Jaheira with a note of finality in her voice. "I would rather die."

It was such a noble sentiment, something said in jest to dear friends or sworn in daylight to add romance to one's life. Imoen and Thalia had promised it many times to each other, sealing the vow with blood. It was also an unspoken rule among adventurers, who risked their lives so casually. But Thalia was deeply ashamed that when it came time to live up to it, she found herself lacking. Looking into Jaheira's steady face, Thalia knew she wouldn't be lacking.

All she could say was, "I'm sorry," and they both knew it wasn't enough.

"Being forced into such a fight against allies is awful," said Jaheira without her usual compassion, "and Viconia has told us much of the battle. But that is not what I wanted to talk to you about." She fixed her amber eyes in a harsh, hawk-like glare that Thalia could feel without meeting them. "Before Viconia disabled Khalid and myself, we all heard it — how you offered up their lives and hoped it would spare ours."

Thalia shook her head, tears coming to her eyes. "There was no point fighting the Wizards, Jaheira," she whispered. "We all would've died."

"Then, we should've died," said Jaheira simply, the hardness not leaving her face or voice. "Died, rather than betrayed our friends."

"I didn't do it because I wanted to—" she began, but was sharply interrupted.

"The matter is not why you did it, the matter is that it was done," said Jaheira, pounding the table in anger. "The only people I owe my loyalty are those who have never made me question theirs. I cannot trust someone to share the road with if I know they would willingly throw their friends away — kill them themselves, even."

"I..." Thalia was speechless, a crawling feeling of hopelessness took her over. She felt Jaheira's mind was already made up, that nothing she said could change it, no matter how she tried. "I would never do that to you. Never."

"Would you have said that the night before last about Dynaheir and Minsc?" asked Jaheira. She sighed, wincing to herself in the first act of weakness she had shown since coming downstairs. "That was unnecessarily harsh," she added. But the grief-hardened mistrust came back before Thalia could respond. "What did you speak of with Edwin in Nashkel?" demanded Jaheira.

"I— _What_?"

"We all went to sleep one night, then when we awoke, you said you had been hired by a Red Wizard," she said. Her eyes narrowed and she looked at Thalia as though she were a stranger, dangerous and unknowable. "Before walking into that clearing, he spoke to you in warning, rather than any other. In that clearing, before his superiors, when he handed them our heads without hesitation, he turned to you and knew you would stay at his side."

"You—You think I knew him? That we planned this?" said Thalia, horrified and furious Jaheira would even dare imply such a thing. A heat rose up her neck and she stood, knocking her tankard over to clatter on the floor. Jaheira stood as well, her face stony and unreadable. "That I would kill my friends to keep that miserable, bullying parasite around? This wasn't about him at all! This was about Imoen and Viconia and  _you_  and  _your_  husband," Thalia shouted. "I did what I had to do!"

Blood pounded in her ears and her hands twitched, itching to punch Jaheira for her brazen nerve. A small, quiet part of her mind still pleaded wordlessly for Jaheira to understand, though, to hear the sorrow and regret Thalia held but it was easily ignored, drowning in her anger. Jaheira knew and it was irrelevant. All she could see was Jaheira's frustrating, scornful face. Thalia was vaguely aware of Khalid rushing from the bar to put a hand on Jaheira's arm, but he was a million worlds away for all either of them cared. Jaheira's fingers curl into a fist. Thalia braced for the punch.

Eventually, Jaheira shook her head, scoffing as she collected herself, her hand relaxing at her side. "It appears I was mistaken," she said coldly. "There is nothing of Gorion in you. In the morning, Khalid and I will leave for the city of Baldur's Gate. And you will not follow us."

Without another word, she let Khalid lead her back upstairs. Stunned, Thalia slowly sat down, feeling her anger melt into tears behind her eyes as the full weight of what she had done fell on her shoulders. As the first silent tears began to trace their way down her face, she picked up the tankard and stumbled, numb, to the barkeep.

"You alright, missy?" he asked, concerned.

Thalia dropped a few more copper coins on the table. "I need something a lot stronger than cider."

The barkeep offered a half bottle of dragon punch, which Thalia slowly made her way through as the barroom emptied around her and the night wore on. The bards retreated to their rooms and all but the most miserable or private drunkards were left behind, Thalia among them. The dragon punch hadn't brought the relief she was looking for, taking away her mind and cares, leaving her with a heavy heart and a foul taste in her mouth.

She tipped the last drops of the bottle vainly into her glass, looking mournfully at the swirling amber liquid that flashed like fire in the dim light. She closed her eyes, her brow furrowing, as the colour brought to her foggy mind a particular set of hard amber elven eyes. Moments later, the drink took mercy on her and let her sleep.

**)*(**

A storm was in the air. Heavy. Oppressive. Dark clouds gathered above the tower, a wrought iron and brick monstrosity with a balcony near the top that overlooked the city. The same powerful man as Thalia had seen once before leaned against the rails. He wore the fine silken doublet of a noble but it didn't suit him. His face was hard set, his brow and jaw squared in a frustration that made him appear far older than his young years. His dark blue eyes were filled with pity as he cast a withering look to the people who scurried down below him. So blissfully unaware.

"The girl still lives," he called in a deep, heavy voice.

From the open doors behind him, Thalia could see a richly decorated study. A granite fireplace crackled humbly before the polished dark wood desk. Long emerald velvet curtains decorated the tall windows with the same magnificent cityscape view. An elderly man with a cruel face and short white hair stood from a green armchair and replaced his book in a shelf. A name rose unbidden to Thalia's mind, as though a curse. Winski.

"Indeed," he said bitterly, selecting a new book. "Honestly, I don't know what Tazok thinks he's doing, employing all these incompetent assassins. By now I'm sure they've cost us as much as it would have done hiring a good one in the first place."

"He underestimated her," the young man said with a sigh.

Winski scowled and, taking up his book, hit the younger man in the back of the head with as much strength as his old bones could muster. "You did, as well," he said coldly. "I hope you've learned your lesson."

The younger man bore the abuse without a word, a roll of shame creeping up his collar as he hung his head. "You're right," he admitted. "You always are."

"You know the reports as well as I," snapped Winski. "Her traveling companions are not to be taken lightly — first it was the Harpers, then she found a  _drow_  of all things, and an inked Red Wizard on the damned west coast."

At this, the young man chuckled. "Have you lost faith?" It was clearly a daring threat.

"Never!" Winski exclaimed, alarmed. A shadow of true fear flirted over his face before being brought under control. "My best spells have been unable to detect her presence with any certainty," he said. "It's likely the Red Wizard has been cloaking her or…"

After a moment, the young man rose a curious eyebrow. "Or?"

"Or she is coming into her own," he said, as though he could hardly bear the thought. "If he had any sense, the Wizard has already told her. Additionally, the Cyricists' prophecies named her as one of the final twenty. She might perhaps even be one of the five."

The young man shook his head, his lip curled into a snarl. "Impossible," he spat, his knuckles whitening on the rails.

"Well, there must be four others," said Winski ironically. "It is simple, though. Don't let her live and she won't even be among the final hundred. She won't have the time to become dangerous herself."

The young man sighed, his anger flowing out of him. He drummed his fingers on the railing thoughtfully. "Of all the death and destruction she has brought with her," he said slowly, with something like respect, "she doesn't deserve some nameless death by an assassin paid a few thousand for his troubles. She's earned my steel."

"I won't help you give it to her," said Winski, disappointed but resolute, almost sneering in his derision. "You had your chance to kill the Harper and his ward but you only managed the one — the  _wrong_  one. This is just another fool notion of honour, boy. I told you to leave that eastern broad behind."

The man set his teeth and turned on his mentor, his face white with anger. "I lost the fool of honour long before I met you, old man," the younger man threatened in a voice like thunder.

"Go find something to kill, Sarevok," he said, bored as he turned his back to the furious man to return to his books. "It will calm you and then we might discuss our plans further."

"You will not send me away as a beaten hound!" demanded Sarevok. He grabbed Winski by the shoulders and spun him around so their eyes met. "I remind you," he continued in a quiet voice, "that you stay here at my behest and will leave when I refuse to tolerate you."

"You will always tolerate me," said Winski with an icy chuckle, unimpressed. "I am your answers to questions you have not yet thought to ask, your guide on paths not yet uncovered, your—"

"Shut your mouth," growled Sarevok, throwing his mentor against the wall, where he fell with a groan. Sarevok glared down at the old man. "I am the master of the Iron Throne and you would do well to remember that."

Winski bowed his head before pulling himself to his feet. His mouth curled into a sneer. "Fine, then, brave leader. How do you expect to find this child when none of us have been able to lay a finger on her?"

"She will find me," said Sarevok. Abruptly, he shoved past Winski and he reached for an amulet from the desk. A silver smiling skull imprinted on a disk, surrounded by twelve small rubies. "Blood calls out to blood," he said to the amulet in a soft voice. "No matter how thin it runs."

He placed the amulet around his neck, his brow knit together in concentration. He walked slowly across the room until he stood in front of a large silver mirror that reflected his powerful build in its entirety. Thalia felt herself falling into his eyes. They darkened, the pupils widening to consume the entire eye, becoming beady and black like those of a raven. An amused mockery danced in them.

He stepped closer to the mirror, until he and his reflection nearly touched noses. "Enjoying the show?"

**)*(**

Thalia woke with a start. Her face was plastered to the table, sticky with drink and tears. She unfolded her arms and found her hands trembling. Her eyes darted around the room, as though he waited for her in the shadows. A name echoed in her mind.

Sarevok. The armored figure. He had to be. The one who ordered her death and Gorion's murder. Not Daeve. Perhaps Daeve's superior, or partner, or his first-rate henchman. And he was ready for her.

Good. It would make things more interesting.

Dawn inched its way across the barroom floor and Thalia wondered if Jaheira and Khalid had already left. And if Imoen had joined them. She climbed the stairs, her head and heart throbbing as the events of last night came back to her. The finality of Jaheira's voice, Khalid's silence, the threat in her eyes as her hands curled into fists.

 _And you will not follow us.._.

Thalia sighed, looking down the landing to the room Jaheira and Khalid shared the day before. Even if they hadn't already left, Thalia knew there was no point speaking with them. Jaheira had made that perfectly clear.

She crossed the hall and pushed at the door to Imoen's room. "Hey, Im," she said softly, poking her head around the corner. "Can I come in?"

Imoen was already awake. She sat on the edge of the bed, legs dangling an inch or two off the floor. Her hair was still a mess and her face streaked with tears, but she managed a weak smile when she saw Thalia. "Hey." She swallowed, her face thin and pained. "Jaheira just came to talk."

Thalia rushed to sit down next to Imoen and wrapped her arms around her. A few wet tears leaked onto her shirt and Thalia felt another pang of resentment for the half-elves. "They wanted you to go with them," she said. It wasn't a question.

Imoen nodded. "She offered, but I couldn't stand to leave you, Lia." She sat back and wiped most of her tears. "I don't wanna get all sappy, but… you know."

Thalia nodded.

"And then when I said I wouldn't leave you, she started warning me that—"

"I think I know what she was warning you about," said Thalia dryly, shaking her head in disbelief. She was somewhat thankful for the half-elves offering Imoen a place among them, but that was unnecessary.

"But I still trust you," promised Imoen in a brave, shaking voice. "I'll go where you wanna go, stay till we find Gorion's killers, I will."

Thalia returned the smile weakly. Always secure in their friendship that felt more like sisterhood in the safe fortress of Candlekeep, now that they faced the danger and death of the adventurers' road, Thalia felt unworthy of that trust and faith.

Imoen blew her nose with the sound of a honking goose on a handkerchief and gathered her sensibilities. "So, what's our next lead?" she said, suddenly becoming business-like as the sound of her own voice calmed her. "I was thinking, before, that maybe we should go back to Beregost and ask Thunderhammer? You said the man who killed Gorion was wearing this really special ugly armor, right? Maybe Thunderhammer heard of it or even knows the smiling skull. It might be the mark of another blacksmith and, after all, ol' Thunderhammer is supposed to be the best in the Sword Coast."

"Im," said Thalia with a laugh.

Imoen stopped her verbal train of thought, pursing her lips. "Fine,  _you_  got any bright ideas?"

Thalia hesitated a moment too long.

Imoen gasped. " _Why_  didn't you say anything before?"

"I-I-I don't know," said Thalia meekly. "I wanted to—"

"If the end of that sentence is 'go it alone', Thalia, I swear I'm going to feed you to the next beholder we find!"

"We haven't found a beholder!"

"Not  _yet_!"

"Are we planning a trip to the Underdark anytime soon?"

"Are you planning to ditch me?"

"I don't want to get you killed!"

"Did you even see me with that ogre mage? I can take care of myself."

"I—"

"If I die on the road, then at least it'll make a good song! It'll be for someone I love and for all the right reasons."

At this point they had both stood. Imoen squared up to Thalia, jutting her chin forward in determination. Thalia grasped hopelessly at words and straws for some sort of argument, but she found none. She would have to come to terms with Imoen's own competence, that she was no more a little sister than Thalia was an older one. All in all, she would still be quite pleased to have her along, no matter what came of this hunt.

At last, nodding, Thalia said, "Alright. I'll tell you what I know."

Sitting Imoen back down, Thalia told her of the the bounty on her head and the mage she had killed, and his brother Daeve and the old iron mine their family had. Thalia had to do a lot of shushing when Imoen hit her again and started on about keeping secrets and  _not mentioning_  the bounty hunters after her.

"It's deep in the Cloakwoods," said Thalia, rubbing her sore arm, "but if Daeve served Tazok's bandits, they might've wanted to hoard the iron in there, to give them control over all the iron of the realm. Maybe," she admitted. Saying it all out loud, it felt like a long stretch.

Imoen's eyes shone with excitement and she leapt to her feet again. "Then, we better get going before Daeve finds out all the bandits are dead. Come on, Lia, we're burning daylight here!"

"Get dressed, then," said Thalia, going to the door with a smile. "I'll bring my pack and we'll see if we need to resupply before heading out."

By the time Thalia returned, Imoen was already wrangling herself into her leather armor, securing her fiery dagger and quivers to her belt. The blue cloak she had lifted from a patron in Beregost spun around her dramatically, clashing with her orange hair and pink tunic.

While adventuring with Jaheira and Khalid, they had pooled together their resources and now that they were gone, they had to reevaluate whatever was left. Thalia sighed as she put aside the things that were, admittedly, no use to them — the lantern and its oil, replaced by Imoen's magelight cantrip, as well as the whetstone and oil, as their weapons were sufficiently enchanted to maintain themselves. They also had bedrolls but no tent, which would likely be of no use in Cloakwood forest anyways. Even Thalia knew the things in there would not be deterred by a bit of fabric. Imoen swore she could control the Wand of Fire enough to set a campfire rather than a forest fire, but Thalia still insisted on a matchbox.

The Friendly Arm sold a variety of foodstuffs for the road-bound traveler and soon their packs were filled with dried apricots and golden raisins, honeyed hardtack, and dried pork sausages flavoured with fennel and bay. At Imoen's insistence, they bought a hand of honeyfingers to munch as they left the inn.

When they were all settled, Thalia asked about Viconia, but Imoen said she had left late last night. Disappointed, Thalia supposed Viconia wasn't the type for drawn out farewells and knew they wished her well regardless.

They were able to set off well before noon, leaving the Arm with a hot breakfast in their bellies and more than enough daylight to reach the edge of the Cloakwoods. Grumbling about Thalia's lack of faith in Imoen's magical skills, Imoen vengefully kicked a few rocks off the Golden Strait.

"I don't know  _why_ —"

"You almost burned down the Woods of Sharp Teeth," laughed Thalia. "What if you set off a fireball spell at our feet? What of our packs? Our supplies? Our eyebrows?"

"Don't tie your swords in a knot," said Imoen, affecting an obnoxiously thick eastern accent and mean scowl reminiscent of the Red Wizard they had left behind. "Zeeze are all meenor detailz in ze pursuits of true arcane mastery!" She barely got to the end of the sentence before falling over herself in a fit of giggles.

Thalia shook her head, chuckling. "Gods, what a character. I can't believe it took us so long to ditch him."

"Should've pinched his spellbook," said Imoen wistfully. "He must've had some legendary spells in there."

"No more evil wizard spellbooks, Im," warned Thalia. "I mean it."

Imoen sighed and a thick silence fell between them. Thalia knew exactly what Imoen was thinking about. Her former magical mentor, Dynaheir, and the spells she had learned under her. Thalia's heart pounded guiltily, the lump in her throat preventing any half-formed sentences of apology from making their way out. Only the gentle metallic clink of her boots on the cobblestones broke the quiet as they walked.

"Is that—? Viconia!" shouted Imoen suddenly, waving as big as she could.

They had reached the first crossroads and further down the southern road to Beregost, someone had set up a meagre camp just beyond the trees. Even in the daylight, the flames that flickered through the trees weren't orange but the purple of drowish faerie fire. Imoen ran down the path, Thalia fast behind her.

When they pushed through the cluster of trees, they found the drow elf sitting and leaning against one of the trees, dimly lit by her faerie fire. Her ice blue eyes were unfocused and unseeing, her hands limp, and Thalia knew she was in a reverie, an elven trance equivalent to sleep.

She reached out a hand to gently shake Viconia, who startled awake at the first touch, her eyes flicking between the two girls, first with panic and then recognition.

"I see," she said with a weary sigh as she stretched the stiffness from her body. "I did not say farewells and you surfacers are accustomed to such partings."

Imoen sat down at the fire, smiling. "We missed you," she said cheerily.

"You have been fine allies," said Viconia, smiling back in spite of herself. "And perhaps I should've observed your customs."

"You didn't have to go," wheedled Imoen. "No one's making you leave and…" At this, she bit her lip and looked to Thalia.

Thalia sat next to Imoen and put a hand on her leg. "Jaheira and Khalid left."

Viconia met Thalia's eye with a solemn understanding. "I heard the conversation last night," she said. "I am truly sorry they didn't understand, but allies with more honour than self-preservation are more of a danger than assistance."

Thalia looked back at the grass, the lump growing in her throat again, but she was unwilling to argue with her.

"But," continued Viconia in a less understanding tone, "I would have thought you, of all the rivven, would have understood why  _I_  left."

"You said you wanted to bury the past. Find peace," said Thalia. She remembered the brief story Viconia had told of her brother, who had no doubt found an ugly end among the drow. "We just wanted to say goodbye."

"What does that mean?" asked Imoen, but Viconia didn't answer.

"Where are you going, then?" asked Thalia instead, looking at the small campsite Viconia had set up.

"I'm not sure," admitted Viconia. "Find a small town, a plot of land. My magic is enough to tend it and a place with few enough neighbours should provide some measure of quiet. I would rather live on the edge of civilization, even surface civilization, than as a hermit in your strange wilds."

"Rather than adventuring?" burst Imoen. Viconia nodded, amused at Imoen's bewilderment. But then an idea dawned behind Imoen's eyes. "You saved my life," she said in a voice that was nearly an accusation. "In the clearing with the Red Wizards, you pulled me back to the road."

Viconia hesitated. "I did."

"I have a debt to repay."

Viconia chuckled. "That was me, paying the life debt you and yours put me in when you saved me from the mercenary. Our times are done."

"But you saved my life, I feel like I owe you."

"Oh, do you?"

"Uh-huh," said Imoen, proud. "And I want to repay it by saving your life, too, but we can't do that living in some stinking little town, so we're going to go to the Cloakwood iron mine to find Daeve and then kill the people who killed Mr Gorion."

Viconia looked to Thalia, a note of concern in her pointed features. "You would truly hunt this man alone?"

Thalia shrugged. "I have Imoen."

"I see." Viconia considered it and then extinguished her fire with a wave of her hand. "I am not one to let allies fall to their own stupidity, nor to let such debts be squandered, so perhaps I will accompany you."

Imoen gave a little cheer and threw her arms around the dark elf in a fierce hug. After a second or two of confused panic, Viconia patted the girl on her back awkwardly.

They packed up her small camp and returned to the road, following the north-western fork. They explained to Viconia about the Cloakwoods and the letters Thalia had recovered from the bandit camp. The forest was a dense woodland that stretched south from the city of Baldur's Gate. On clear days, it could been seen from the tallest towers of Candlekeep. It was supposedly filled with magical creatures and attracted reckless hunters and rangers seeking their fortunes with a unicorn head they could plant on the wall of one of the many lodges in the area.

Unfortunately, the edge of the woods was still quite a long march away and Thalia didn't fancy meeting any members of the Cloakwood werewolf pack in the night.

**)*(**

They had been walking for most of the day and had grown complacent in the peace of the road and their own waxing tiredness. Thalia remained jumpy, however. Her eyes danced through the trees, searching their branches and the inky shadows beyond for the raven. She swore it was following her, but there were any number of black birds in the area and she didn't want to seem as paranoid as she felt.

Though not in a joyful mood, Viconia was hardly bitter about her journey to peace being interrupted and even sported a wry smile as Imoen continued on her merry prattle about magic.

"You  _did_  say once upon a time that you knew a little bit here and there of magic?" said Imoen, fluttering her eyelashes and trying to look as charming as possible.

"I did, yes," said Viconia, trying and failing to conceal her smile. "All clerics of Lolth are trained in a touch of arcane magic and I do remember some."

"Perhaps when we make camp you can scribe a few scrolls and I can have a look at the spells?" she persuaded.

Looking over Imoen's head to Thalia, Viconia raised an eyebrow as if to ask permission. Thalia nodded, trusting Viconia to keep back the more unsavoury drowish spells from Imoen's eager hands.

The sun began to fall further over the sky and the shadows grew long. Viconia tossed a few wandering flickers of faerie fire to guide the way as the sunlight dimmed. Thalia knew they would have to make camp soon, but she was counting on one of the open rangers' lodges coming up along the road. As the road faded to darkness, she heard a horrible noise. The faint slither of a cloak over grass somewhere behind them.

"Did you hear that?" she whispered.

Imoen yawned again and shook her head. "Nah. Wind, probably."

Thalia bit back a retort about the wind wearing cloaks, but the noise stopped briefly before starting again.

"Cast back one of those lights, far behind us," she ordered in a whisper.

Viconia, who was already grimacing, likely having heard it some distance before, threw a flame behind them. It bobbed down the path, scaring a lone rabbit before illuminating an awfully familiar figure in bright scarlet robes. Discovered, he simply continued walking at a steady pace.

"Would you like me to kill it?" asked Viconia with a sigh.

"Leave him to me," said Thalia shortly.

She took out her dagger and made no motion to hide her intentions when she walked towards him. She was honestly surprised when he didn't cast a spell at her, simply waiting with the violet spotlight flickering over his head.

"Has not there been enough kill—"

He had no time to finish his smooth words. Thalia grabbed him by the front of his robes and put the dagger to his neck without passion. Not expecting her to actually move on him, his eyes widened.

"I meant what I said in the Woods of Sharp Teeth," she said quietly. "You've done enough damage and I want you gone. Return to the Friendly Arm, or go find your commanders and let Bellini slap you for all I care, or just  _go home_."

Half blinded by the light, he squinted up at her and swallowed past the cold steel on his throat. "You truly think you will survive whatever scatterbrained suicide mission you have in mind without me?" he said.

"Viconia truly wishes you dead," said Thalia, uninterested. "And I'm half a mind to do it for her."

"I'm sure you are," said the wizard dryly.

There was a long pause but Thalia didn't get the sensation he was hesitating. His eyes scanned her face and, finding whatever he was searching for, said in a very calm and self-assured voice, "You were made as you are and you can also be broken."

Thalia felt her pulse quicken and she paled. "What was that?"

But the wizard only smiled, his teeth glinting in the purple light.

Her vision swam, as images flashed before her eyes. An ancient great hall fallen to decay and age. A series of perfect marble statues, her own glowing golden eyes. The malevolent statue, reaching out a hand. A voice from the darkness, cold and demanding obedience. Her breathing caught and she redoubled her grip on the front of his robes.

"How did you…?"

His smile widened into a smirk and he knew he had won. "I am not cruel nor am I capricious," he said in a commanding voice. "When you had the grace and luck to run into me at Nashkel, I told you what I wanted — to travel with you. I will do so and I will tolerate your barbaric lands and unwashed adventurers. You will recognise your luck and develop proper respect and adoration for your superiors, simian."

Thalia snorted, most of her fear vanishing in his unintimidating threats. "Good luck with the last bit."

Thalia threw him back with all her force and not an inconsiderate amount of revulsion. He sprawled out on the hard cobble road with a grunt. She nodded at him once, hating both herself and him in equal measure.

Sheathing her dagger, she turned on her heel and refused to look back. Still, by Viconia's horrified look, she knew he was following and would continue to follow her no matter where she went.


	16. Chapter 15: The Raven

Though Viconia was willing to respect her decision, it didn't stop her from badgering Thalia endlessly about the Red Wizard's wretched return. She couldn't possibly fathom a reason why Thalia didn't simply end his miserable life. Too tired to explain about the dreams and Edwin's niggling reminders that he knew more than he would ever say, Thalia lapsed into silence and sighs as he followed them like a stray dog.

It wasn't long after their unfortunate reunion that the new quartet came across one of the ranger's lodges the Sword Coast was famous for. The sign out front had an upright wolf with a tankard on it, underneath which  _The Drunken Werewolf_  was writ in graceful flowing script. Within, the place looked to be any other small tavern or inn. A fireplace crackled gently at the back of the room. Overlooking it was a trio of stuffed werewolf heads mounted on a shining plaque. The middle one had an empty wine bottle tipped into its mouth, giving the lodge its name. A few tables and chairs stood orderly around, for there was only one patron this late into the night, an elf who stood at the bar before the attractive but weary barkeep.

"Luck is always on the side of the romantic," he said with a charming smile.

The barkeep sighed and moved to the other end of the bar, wiping the already glossy surface. "Well, you'll need more than luck, Coran," she said. Noticing those who had just come in, she waved him away and he sat, undeterred, by the fire. "Welcome to the Drunken Werewolf," she announced. "Anything I can do for you?"

"Just beds, I think," said Thalia with a yawn, sliding a few silver to her.

The barmaid looked at the four of them with apprehension. "I have only beds for three left, I'm afraid," she said.

"Oh, that's fine," said Thalia, smiling. "He can find his own way. He tends to do that." She could practically hear the wizard's scowl behind her.

"Excellent, then, it's upstairs, the doors to the left."

She thanked the barmaid and pocketed the change. Imoen and Viconia took to the stairs, Viconia casting a dire look behind her through her veil. Thalia well knew what it was at and was just about to follow when the elf accosted her.

"What is a fine woman such as yourself doing at the edge of the Cloakwoods?" asked Coran smoothly, nodding to the empty chair opposite him. On his table were a bottle of wine and two elfish crystal goblets.

"Adventuring, I suppose," said Thalia, deeply amused. She undid the latch on the neck guard and removed her gauntlets.

Clearly a full-blood elf, Coran bore the diminutive height of his kind but not the slenderness. Indeed, his bare arms were muscular and tanned, darkening his tawny elfish skin into a rich copper colour.

"A figure such as yours shouldn't be risked in an occupation such as adventuring," he said, looking at her appreciatively through a shock of red-brown hair. He filled the glasses and handed one to her.

Thalia raised her eyebrow at the drink. "Are you looking for a slap?"

"Nay," he said, distinctly put out. "A wyvern. A priest in Beregost has put a bounty on the heads of those infesting Cloakwood — two thousand pieces a head. Better than almost any other bounty I've seen for the woods for  _decades_. Mostly because he thinks they're copper dragons, but I won't be the one to tell him that."

The bounty was hardly tempting, as they were still well set for money for the foreseeable future, but a thought occurred to Thalia. "Do you know the woods well?" she asked.

Coran smiled with a glint in his eye. "I am a wild elf, my lady," he said, "a hunter of these woods. Aye, I know every nest and cave from the river to the hills."

"Do you know of an iron mine in the woods?"

Coran's smile only grew and he reached across to stroke the back of Thalia's hand. "I do. I may take you there, for a price."

Withdrawing her hand, she cringed. "I'm not bedding you," she said bluntly.

Coran sighed, irritated. "In gold, my price is two hundred."

Swinging her pack around, Thalia counted the coins out deftly. She had faith they would be able to find more one way or another.

Coran pocketed the coins with a smile reeking of avarice. "Pleasure doing business with you," he said with a bow. He turned and put a hand on the doorframe. "Come find me before you leave in the morn," he said behind him, leaving her alone with his wine.

Thalia rolled her eyes at their newfound guide through the woods and finished the offered wine in a single gulp before following her traveling companions to bed. Before her head hit the pillow, she was already asleep.

**)*(**

The gates of Candlekeep swam into misty view, but they seemed far greater and more imposing than the last time Thalia had seen them. She looked up at Gorion, holding his larger hand tightly, and he was a younger man once more. His beard was neatly trimmed and full black as was the hair of his head, and his face was unlined, though he held the same ageless smile. She looked around him and saw a small child with a smattering of freckles and carrot-red hair holding his other hand. Imoen. She stuck her tongue out at Thalia, who responded in kind.

The guard within the gate accepted the book Gorion extended, a heavy leather bound volume embroidered with gold.

"Gorion of the Harpers and my wards, Thalia and Imoen," he said brightly.

The guard picked a note from the front cover and fixed Gorion with a stern look. "The Keeper of Tomes will want to speak to you about your… special circumstances, Mr Gorion."

Gorion nodded, unfazed. "I expected he would. I assume I may leave the children outside the library while we talk?"

The guard waved them along. "Of course, sir. This is Candlekeep, no safer place for man nor book in all the realms."

"Wait right here, my dears." Gorion kissed their foreheads and ruffled Imoen's hair, eliciting an indignant cry from the girl. Gorion smiled fondly and marched up the stairs to the grand library of Candlekeep.

Thalia sat on the edge of the water pools, looking down into the still ponds where fish swam elegantly through patterns of jewel-toned rocks. Imoen sat next to her but was soon bored and went off chasing a particularly pretty butterfly.

Moments later, she could hear shouting from within the library. Gorion seldom raised his voice but it hadn't become uncommon as of late. She didn't like to listen to the arguments made at their previous stops. Though Thalia was far too young to remember, right then, she knew Gorion had approached several isolated towns and monasteries to ask permission to stay. All had ended with shouting arguments and rejection, regardless of the coin or presents he offered.

Thalia dipped her finger in the pond and all the fish scattered from the ripples she made, dancing and shimmering in the sunlight. She giggled, but when the water stilled again, the fish were nowhere to be found. Instead, there was a reflection. A large raven had perched on a stone wall behind her, the feathers glossy and its head cocked to the side with an unnatural intelligence. It stared at her through the reflection in the water with cold black eyes. A primal fear took root for some unknown reason and she was suddenly terrified to meet the bird's gaze.

It cawed behind her and she paled, cringing under its impending assault, but it did not come. Instead, it waited until she met its eyes in the water once again. "Like father, like daughter," it said in the inhuman voice of her father, but not any father she had ever known. "For what is bred in the bone will flow in the blood." It cawed once more and took off, leaving her be.

The doors to the library were thrown open with a bang, making Thalia jump. The Keeper of Tomes stormed out, Gorion not far behind. The Keeper threw Thalia a scornful look but spoke to Gorion, "You may stay, but mark my words, these children will be the death of you."

"Then, I will go to my death with honour, knowing I have at least done something good in this world," he mused. He reached out a hand to Thalia. "Come, let us find Imoen. I'm sure she's around here somewhere."

Thalia took his hand and walked with him the length of Candlekeep's courtyard but when she caught sight of her reflection in the inn's window, her eyes were black as the raven's.

**)*(**

Thalia thought her heart would seize it pounded so hard in her chest. She was drenched in sweat, chilled to the bone. Rolling to her side, she wiped the tears from her eyes and sobbed quietly to herself, not quite knowing why but unable to stop it. The only thing she was thankful of was that she had not screamed.

Uneasily, she slid out of bed and walked downstairs into the dark and empty barroom, then outside. They were on the very edge of the Cloakwood forest but it was likely safe enough if she stayed by the lodge. All she wanted was a breath of clear, cold air to calm her nerves before returning to a hopefully restful sleep. The darkness felt safe around her.

The seasons were changing, slowly but surely, as the spring turned to summer and the air grew warmer but the peace of the night was still enough to clear her mind. A few scurrying beasties ran across the ground before charging up a tree. Squirrels, running about as squirrels did. The stars shone brightly, the moon casting some faint silvery light over the log lodge. An owl hooted in the distance, but at least it wasn't a raven.

Thalia had hardly finished the thought before there was a deep, throaty screech and the sound of flapping wings. Her heart rate climbed back up to near breakneck speed. Whipping her head around, she searched the darkness but the moonlight wasn't nearly strong enough. Her hands trembled with a frenzied fear. She grappled at her side for a blade that wasn't there. Feeling vulnerable and unprotected, she fumbled for the door but the knob wouldn't turn.

A bird flew down at her, its croak deafening, the claws tearing through her shirt and drawing blood.

Falling to the ground, Thalia scrambled to her feet and ran back along the road. A scream caught in her throat, held still by fear. The gravel of the path tore at her feet but she heard the bird's wretched flapping all too close behind her. It dove at her again, screeching and ripping her back, drawing scratches that served more to terrify than to wound.

The next attack drove her off the road and into the woods. Seeing what it was trying to do, she tried to veer back to the lodge but was only attacked again and again. She ran deeper into the Cloakwoods. Branches whipped in her face, clinging to her hair like so many clawed feet, ripping loose threads in her clothes, and bruising her shins.

Still, the bird pursued relentlessly. Croaking in a deep, ominous voice before fluttering through the darkness like a shadow and pinching at her, scratching her, driving her onwards. Her clothes hung off her in bloodied tatters as she ran. Some sensible part of Thalia knew that whatever master this devil bird served, it was luring her into a trap.

But soon, far more fiendish ravens joined the first. They flew just outside the touch of moonlight, their feathers glinting as they watched and croaked. The darkness around her seemed to be alive with the wild nightmare birds and she wondered if she was still dreaming.

Eventually, she broke into a clearing. The moonlight shone clear and bright here, like a celestial spotlight. From behind her, the flapping wings sounded like a marching army and Thalia ducked, protecting her head and face. A scream tore at her throat as she heard and felt them rush over her. Dozens of the birds, clawing, ripping at her, screeching in her air.

Then… it stopped.

She looked up tentatively and regretted it. Her mouth fell open and her knees buckled. More than fifty birds swirled in a malevolent hurricane of feathers, sharpened claws, and beady eyes not far above her. Far more sat in the nearest trees, occasionally taking flight to join the others. As the light washed over them, the deep croaks turned into a symphony, each echoing the calls of the last in a dizzying, threatening song that came from everywhere at once.

"Get the hell away from me," she pleaded in a thin rasp. "Just let me sleep."

As if they had understood, the ravens dissipated, flying off in a single massive hoard into the distance. Those sitting in the trees followed closely.

As the sound of flapping wings thinned off into the night, Thalia swallowed heavily and hung her head in her trembling hands. Normal birds didn't behave like this. For all the evil tales of magic beasts that lived in Cloakwood, she had never heard of such things. She struggled to her feet, fatigue beginning to settle in as she looked around the dark clearing hopelessly. How was she ever supposed to get back before morning?

On the opposite end of the clearing, she saw her answer. The moonlight was faint enough he almost blended into the shadows, but she could still distinguish the unnatural red and the small campfire. She limped closer, her confused fear shaking her resolve and pride so much she dropped herself unceremoniously at Edwin's camp without so much as a glance at the wizard.

"I think I'm going mad," she whispered to herself as tears started to stream down her face.

A thick blanket was thrown at her head. She wrapped herself in it and looked up, but found no trace of smugness. Only a very punchable scowl. "Do  _all_  western barbarians have no semblance of cultured modesty?"

Though his words were harsh, as always, Thalia was grateful for the covering over her torn and thin clothes. Not that she would tell him such things.

He sat before her, his pack and meager supper at his side. He had long since opened the tightly done rope of his red robe, revealing the black shirt and trousers he wore under it. It took away a great deal of his supposed evil majesty and made him look rather skinny and young. He couldn't have been anymore than ten years older than her, she realised. He spun his Wand of Monster Summoning in a way he probably thought was impressive.

"I would rather have the robe," she said with a small smile, imagining his outrage. He didn't disappoint.

His mouth fell open and he flushed a blotchy red, jabbing the Wand in her direction to make his point. "How  _dare_  you? Wearing a Red Wizard's robe is punishable by execution! Do you even know how valuable such a garment is? No, it is far beyond your mental capacity. Honestly, it is a marvel you remember to breathe and walk at the same time."

Thalia chuckled weakly.

"I'm guessing you have found your creature?" asked Edwin in a casual voice. "Rather, it — or  _they_  have found you?"

Thalia flinched but nodded, unsure what he meant.

Edwin grinned in the darkness. It made Thalia's skin crawl. "Excellent."

"Could you be a little more cryptic?"

"Are you willing to listen to me, wretch?"

"Are you just gonna sit there and mock me?"

"I want you to ask me."

She swallowed and looked into his eyes. Instead of finding the same disgusting arrogance as always, she saw something far more disturbing that crushed any semblance of pride she had left. Triumph. He had gotten what he wanted, as he always knew he would.

"Tell me what's wrong with me," she said. She choked. "Please."

That spark of triumph left him and he sighed, running a hand over his bald head. "I will help you understand," he said. "But you must tell me all you know when I'm done."

Thalia nodded again and wrapped the blanket around her tighter as a chill passed through her that had nothing to do with the night air.

"What do you know of the Time of Troubles?" he asked. "I understand you have been raised in a library but, from what I've seen, you haven't partaken of the resources."

Thalia bristled. "I know a bit. Gods walked as mortals. Some mortals killed them, took their crowns."

Edwin rolled his eyes at the brief explanation. "Yes, I suppose that is all you could remember, but one particular chapter of the Times must be elaborated on. Cyric."

Thalia knew the name somewhat. "What about him?"

"In life, he was a common thief who fell into an adventuring party out of Cromwell and quickly had aspirations of attaining godhead. Through a great amount of luck, he managed to slay not one but three of the most powerful gods. The Dread Three: Bane the Tyrannical, Myrkul of the Dead, and the Lord Bhaal. The ascended Prince of Lies became mad for his folly," scoffed Edwin, "but remains one of the greatest forces in the cosmos, especially after inheriting Bane's followers after sacking Zhentil Keep.

"Bhaal warned or learned somehow of his coming death. When he fell, his churches dissolved into chaos, his followers hunted down and butchered, but most females who followed him had a secret. Maiden or wife or crone, they found themselves with child and—"

"Stop," said Thalia, lost and confused. "If I… If I am a godschilde I would've known a long time ago. I'd be a tiefling, with horns, a tail —"

"Bhaal was quite well liked in the east," continued Edwin louder as though he hadn't heard her. "The Red Wizards sought out his children, hoping for an easy and almost endless supply of godsblood, but they found something far greater." His smile widened and he was unable to contain his excitement. "Bhaal's children don't have some lingering connection to divinity with an ugly appearance. They each hold a sliver of his own greater divine spark, hiding away every piece of it from Cyric in the hopes his priests would be able to resurrect him. But most of Bhaal's churches were hunted and destroyed years ago, leaving the children without purpose. As they aged and killed their first, the children exhibited a common path — foul dreams following a predestined order identical between them, unnatural power drawn from neither the Weave nor granted by gods —"

"What do you mean 'killed their first'?" she asked cagily.

Edwin blinked, torn between derision at her ignorance and the same disturbing excitement. "Bhaal was the Lord of Murder and his spark is only activated when his progeny first brings death to another."

Thalia's head swam with unshed tears and her jaw fell slack. She recalled the confused and tortured face of Minsc, his lifeblood dripping from her blade. The impassioned thrust that ended Dynaheir's life. Her calm, resigned face, as if she had expected such a thing all along. Her blood turned to ice.

_You are truly your father's daughter…_

Not Gorion at all. Bhaal.

And, all those tendays ago, the failed assassin at Candlekeep. The dirty young man who waited for her and Gorion in the priests' chambers. How he had fallen on her blade. The revulsion and excitement rushing through her as she ended a life. Gorion's deep and unspoken concern when she told him she had killed her first man. Elminster's worry when she expressed her need for vengeance, his warning to remain righteous. How she loathed to heed him, instead forging a reckless path that left chaos and death in its wake.

How the armored figure hunted for her and her alone. He knew. Perhaps he was even right to put her down. Who knew how far she would go? He might have been a paladin, though Thalia didn't know paladins to wear spiked black armor. And Gorion knew, still knew, and he threw his life away in the faith that she could be more than her blood.

Jaheira was right. She was nothing like him at all.

The way she slaughtered her way through the bandit camp and Tazok's inner circle. The all-consuming terror as Malek wrapped his hands around her throat and the rising well of power from deep within that scorched him. The surge of healing magic that obeyed her will and brought Minsc back from the edge of death. The bolt of cherry red light that struck the assassin at Nashkel and the Red Wizard's smirk as he applauded her performance.

"You knew," she croaked. "You knew all along…"

"Indeed."

A horrible thought occurred to her and she knew it to be true before she spoke it. "You came here just to find… someone like me."

"Indeed."

"And then drag me by my hair back to Thay."

Edwin looked at her with a carefully guarded and unreadable expression. "It's not as if I'm going to let Bellini have all the credit," he said at last. "I wrote back to Janak that I had discovered a Bhaalspawn and he wanted me to sit tight until he could deploy a unit to pick you up. Either," he added, lip curling, "Janak doesn't believe me or he doesn't find me competent enough to guide us both back to Thay in one piece."

"I-I'm not going," said Thalia, numb in her shock. "I refuse."

Edwin scowled in annoyance. "It would be quite easy a journey if you learned a modicum of cooperation."

"I am not going to a dungeon to be experimented on by mad wizards!" said Thalia, somewhat shrilly.

"You stupid girl!" he snapped. "If you will not come of your own will, I can easily paralyze you and transport you in a coffin."

A ghostly chill wrote its way down her spine. She knew it was well within his power and mind to do so. He would get his way, again. Her heart rate frenzied and she leapt to her feet, throwing the blanket down. A familiar jolt of pain speared down her spine, hard and cold. But, Edwin's angry eyes didn't follow her. They stared at where she had sat a moment before, his eyebrows inching up in an annoyed surprise.

"Tell me it is merely invisibility and you didn't teleport to Shadowdale?" he drawled, standing as well.

His eyes narrowed as he looked through the darkness for some faint shimmer. He reached out a hand, finger extended. Thalia backed away from it, still trembling. He whispered a spell, an invading force of magic swept over her, and his eyes met hers again.

"Sorcerers are a danger to themselves and others," he said. "I expect you will learn to control this nonsense on your own; I might not always have a dispel spell prepared."

As she shifted back to visibility, he averted his eyes and threw the blanket back at her, sitting back down. "Time for you to tell me what you know," he ordered.

Fearing him far more and trusting him even less than she did minutes ago, she took her seat back on the ground as if it would explode under her. A heavy silence settled between them as she hunted for words. After a great deal of jabbing and prodding, Edwin managed to worm the story out of her. The assassin at Candlekeep, Gorion's letter from Elminster, their flight and the armored figure, her scant few casts of panicked magic, and what she remembered from the ceaseless dreams and the sigil of the smiling skull (Bhaal's old divine symbol). He told her the empty castle and deadly land were Bhaal's old realm, abandoned and without a ruler.

He nodded, tallying up her dreams. "They've been making good timing," he said. "Just be aware, as Bhaal's divine spark reawakens it will be… persistent."

She felt herself pale as he stumbled over the word.

"It will continue to reach out, to reconnect with other shards of Bhaal," he continued. "One of those lovers in your vision was almost certainly Bhaalspawn."

"How many more are there?" she asked. She fought the dreadful fatigue settling in her. "What happens when I get to the end of the dreams?"

He avoided her eye and instead coaxed the dying flames of his campfire with another spell. "We will see," he said.

"You have no idea," she accused.

"The Bhaalspawn in Thay all died before they got to that point," he said without emotion. His lips twitched at the look of horror on her face. Her mind cycled through grisly magical experiments.

Wings fluttered through the trees. Thalia whipped her head up, scanning the branches, and found the raven. It stared at her intently and she cringed.

"What is that?" she moaned, not daring to take her eyes off the bird in case it attacked. She wished she could summon invisibility again.

"Bhaal's domain of death encapsulated many species," said Edwin as he saw the raven. "Grims, bats, carrion birds, cats, wolves, among others. Many are aware of Bhaal's essence being split, their patron with it."

Thalia choked out a hysterical laugh. "Now I'm the goddess of ravens?"

"Goddess is an extreme exaggeration. Don't flatter yourself," Edwin snapped humorlessly. "You are hardly any shade of divinity, simply a carrier who receives some fringe benefits from her fortunate birth."

So vicious and bitter was his voice that Thalia actually took her eyes off the bird. He had paled with anger, his lips thinning to nonexistence as his eyes bored holes into her.

"What's your problem?" she asked.

The wizard spat at the ground, swallowing his emotions with some difficulty before meeting her eye again. Though his face was calm and almost lax, his eyes continued to burn. "Nothing," he said shortly. "And you would do well to remember it. Anything else?"

Thalia hesitated.

"Out with it," he said, bored.

She didn't trust him with her fears about her, but, at the moment, he was her best source on her current situation. "Imoen," said Thalia with a heavy sigh. "She was on death's door in the mines. Then, she wasn't. Viconia said I couldn't possibly—"

"You did."

Thalia bit back her next question, but she had a feeling Edwin knew what it would have been anyway. He chuckled in a self-satisfied sort of a way and looked at her in a manner she didn't appreciate at all.

"I don't want to do it again," she said in a hard voice.

"Until you're holding her bloody corpse again, naturally," he said with that disturbing smile.

Thalia flinched at the image. "I'm not going to channel a spark of Murder into magic," she said. "And I'm not going to let you make me feel guilty about that."

He waved it all aside. "By all means," he drawled, "be  _noble_."

Biting her tongue, she continued, "Regardless, I feel you should also know, Elminster has—"

"Oh, Elminster this, Elminster that." Edwin spat at the ground again, snarling at the name of the powerful wizard.

"Not fond of him in Thay?" asked Thalia, amused at his blatant jealousy.

He fixed her with a cold look that only made her chuckle more. "He has done naught but be lucky in this world. His power is not of his own making but Mystra's meddling and he has taught the reproachable craft of meddling to the Harpers, which now infest the world like a varied and indestructible rot."

"I see," she said, shaking her head at him.

"He has also damn well meddled in the Bhaalspawn!"

Thalia's smile fell. She had a feeling she knew what he was about to say, having figured it out herself by now, but he continued to rant.

"The Zulkirs have estimated the number of surviving Bhaalspawn in the low hundreds throughout Faerun," he explained angrily, "but Elminster has scattered a great many of them through the realms, in the charge of those such meddlesome fools he trusts—"

"Do not insult Gorion in front of me," she said flatly.

He considered the unspoken threat and, to Thalia's great surprise, nodded. It was as close to an apology as she would get from him.

He swallowed his bitterness and changed topic. "I expect we will follow this cockamayme elf through these woods at dawn, then?"

"What, Coran? He'll lead us to the old iron mine and I will stick my sword in Daeve and he will lead us to Sarevok, who I shall also stab," she said, a dark note of excitement rising in her heart. It brought with it a sense of nausea as she debated its origins.

Edwin's mouth twitched into a half-smile as she spoke of murder. "And what of the others? Are we keeping them in the dark?"

Thalia considered it briefly, but shook her head. She wasn't about to keep a conspiratorial secret like this with Edwin, of all people. It was time to come clean.

"In the morning, I'll tell them. More importantly," she added with a whisper of threat in her voice, " _you_  will not keep  _me_  in the dark anymore. I understand now that if you don't come with us, you will just follow me, but if I must deal with your presence, you  _will_  tell me everything you know."

"I already have!" said Edwin. "What else do you want?"

"I want to know when your superiors write back to you, when their unit is coming to 'pick me up'."

"You will never be able to outrun them," he stated as a fact. She didn't doubt it herself. She glared at him, holding his eye until he broke eye contact. "I will… think on it," said Edwin, his face an unreadable dark mask, though his eyes were troubled.

Thalia knew then she would likely never get such a warning and would have to rely on her own best guesses. Traveling across the realms, even as a party of wizards, would take a great many months. It would give her plenty of time to finish her plans of revenge and then perhaps head south. The southern nation of Amn despised all magic and spellcasters, making it an excellent place to hide from the malevolent Red Wizards.

Edwin twirled his hand and a small ball of magelight fluttered over her shoulder and hovered a few inches above the ground behind her. "Find your way back to the lodge and leave me be," he said shortly.

Thalia tossed back his blanket, feeling his mood take a turn for the worst as he lapsed into silence. She followed the light as it wound its way through the trees and evaporated at the front door. Without panic in her fingers, the door opened easily and she returned to her room. Tearing off the bloody and tattered clothes, she sighed and buried her head in the pillow as tears started to fall.

In her mind, thoughts swirled of dead gods and dead children, traitorous wizards in red, and the deep dark well of power she had only scraped the surface of and backed away in fear of the cold voice that came with it. Some time shortly before dawn, her restless mind calmed and drifted off to sleep.


	17. Chapter 16: The Cloakwood Forest

"Alright, so let's back up a bit. You're a  _what_?"

Thalia sighed and looked away, a blush tinting her cheeks. The concept still sounded ridiculous, especially to her, and most especially in daylight. "A daughter of Murder — one of many," she said. "Apparently."

"And you learned  _Burning Hands_   _before_  me?" said Imoen. She crunched into an oatcake, shooting a hard look at Thalia.

Unable to find fitful rest, Thalia had woken early and brought Viconia and Imoen breakfast. Determined to leave nothing out, she explained her conversation with Edwin the night before over a stack of oatcakes, a score of soft boiled eggs, and a basket of strawberries.

Thalia grimaced, her shoulders drooping. "I wouldn't know how to do it again," she said, "it just… sorta comes, but the magic's been getting stronger as the dreams go on."

"Are we really gonna trust what he says about your dreams?" Imoen looked between Thalia and Viconia, eyes narrowed.

Thalia groaned. " 'Trust' is a strong word," she said, exasperated.

Since Thalia didn't give the answer Imoen was looking for, she turned desperately to Viconia, who drummed her fingers on the bedpost, deep in thought.

"I wouldn't be too terribly surprised," said Viconia cautiously. "It would explain the gold colour of your magical aura. Divinity."

Thalia flinched. She didn't like the idea of Bhaal's divine spark resting in her, even if it was only a very small fraction of it. Knowing might have explained a great deal, but it also brought with it a lot more concerns. She knew little of the dead god except his title and sigil. Neither were much comfort.

"If the dreams were getting so bad you were willing to believe you're the daughter of a god, you should've said something!" howled Imoen, her face twisted in disbelief. "Rather me than  _him_ , at least."

"If he keeps his distance, he is useful," said Viconia. "Only if he could learn some respect for his betters."

Thalia smiled at that and wrestled her hand away from Imoen before she tore it off. Stroking the other girl's hair, Thalia admitted, "I should've told you."

"Damn right, you should've."

"And I'm sorry."

"We're gonna need to find a beholder soon," said Imoen grimly, her eyes shining with mischief. "A good and hungry one."

And Thalia knew all was forgiven, as it always would be. There might be some wayward teasing and latent jealousy as Imoen would surely probe her about magic later, but there was no lasting damage done. They shared a warm hug and at least some of Thalia's concerned melted away in her arms.

Viconia coughed to break up the emotional display. "I am afraid my knowledge of gods doesn't extend to those surfacers worship," she said, "let alone those dead twenty years, but at least there is a starting point now, if you wish to learn more of your sire."

"Edwin said Bhaal was popular in the east," said Thalia, making a face as she remembered his threats of taking her back to Thay with him. "But I know worship of Cyric is also very common in the south — Amn, Calamshime, Berne."

"I also hope you will pardon my will to live," said Viconia dryly, "but if the Thayvians capture you, I will not be mounting a daring rescue."

"No more than I expect," said Thalia.

Satisfied, Viconia stood and replaced her veil and headscarf. "I suppose we better set out," she said. "This darthiir, what was his name?" Before she pinned back her veil and secured her helmet, Thalia saw and heard the loathing in her voice and face as she asked about the surface elf.

"Coran."

"What a horrid name," she scowled.

"Somehow I thought you would say that."

As they helped get Imoen into her armor and ready for the road, Thalia listened to Viconia's bitter hatred of surface elves. She was almost relieved when they were able to head downstairs and find Coran. He waited in the barroom, leaning against a wall and flipping a coin nonchalantly, a gleaming elven warbow strapped to his back and a steel longsword on his hip.

He broke out into a wide smile and gracious bow. "I see my dear Thalia travels with not one but two bold and beautiful ladies," he said smoothly. "I am but Coran, a hunter and ranger of these woods and today, I have the fine pleasure of escorting—you're an elf." It wasn't a question. Coran stopped his honeyed words with a start, his tanned skin paling faintly as he scrutinized Viconia further.

"The sooner we start, the sooner this wretched expedition might end," she said stiffly.

Coran straightened his mouth and took a deep breath, holding the door open for the women. "Shall we?"

Coran's mood fell further as he saw Edwin waiting outside for them, as Thalia expected he would be. The wizard threw the flippant elf his familiar scowl while formal introductions were made and the men refused to shake hands. This was going to be a very long day.

Imoen was oblivious to the tension. Coran led them down the cobbleroad past the lodge but it shortly turned to a much abused dirt path. Imoen jogged to catch up with him.

"So, what sorta beasts  _really_  run around Cloakwood?" she asked, grinning. "Me and Thalia lived all our lives in Candlekeep and you just hear the most awful stories."

Coran smiled, temporarily forgetting his less than ideal traveling companions. "Oh, a great many," he said. "Werewolves, owlbears, giant spiders, satyrs. Some unusual folk."

Thalia caught up with them. "And wyverns," she added, looking at Imoen.

Imoen's eyes grew wide and Coran laughed heartily.

"Are we—have you killed any?" asked Imoen in amazement. She put a hand on his arm, walking sideways to keep looking at him. Wyverns were low-flying reptiles the size of horses with giant barbed tails and a rather ugly demeanor. They were also a lesser breed of dragon.

Coran's eyes twinkled. "I've actually been fulfilling a bounty on the colony," he said. "Just watch for their poisoned tails, it's like jump rope but more dangerous."

Imoen giggled and Thalia cast Coran a wary eye as he looked at Imoen, but it was a very mundane concern and unnecessary. Thalia still remembered the visiting bard who had taken a forceful shining to Imoen last year. Imoen swore it wasn't her but suddenly the vain bard found his face covered in creative insults writ in magical ink. After even Gorion was unable (or, more likely, refused) to remove it, he left Candlekeep with  _troll breath_  across his forehead. Still, Thalia laughed at Coran's free flirting and held onto the mundaneness of it all.

**)*(**

The Cloakwoods were beautiful and Thalia could easily understand how Coran took to being a hunter in them. The trees stood thick and tall, of white and grey bark, their leaves a brilliant emerald. The sunlight on the ground tinged with green and poured through the trees. Few roots or brambles marred the winding path and even the branches didn't lay low enough to knock their heads when Coran led them deeper off the road. Strange furred and feathered creatures ate at the fruit bushes or munched leaves, most of them bounding away from the party. A few of the calmer ones looked at them inquisitively and enjoyed being scratched behind the ears by the wild elf.

A few didn't, though. Several times Coran would stop them, picking a few ghostly threads as strong as steel from a bramble. A moment later, he fired a handful of arrows off into the trees, quicker than the rest could react. Whistling with a frosty elven magic, they brought forth an inhuman chattering shriek and a giant spider crashing to the ground. Even after the sixth time, Imoen still screamed with surprise.

"Fear not, my lady," chuckled Coran for the sixth time that day, wrenching the magical arrows from the body of the still-twitching spider. "They aren't poisonous unless they bite." He was unable to help the foul glance he threw at Viconia, who had let down her veil in the cover of the woods to reveal her full drowish visage, and smirked at the dark look he gave.

"Ah, of course," she said loudly. "All drow bow before the Spider Queen, how could I forget? It is the death penalty to kill her own children."

"Is that a threat?" Coran's hand rested casually on the hilt of his sword as he strode towards Viconia, his face cold and harsh.

"For your own sake, you better hope it is," said Viconia, unflinching. "I do not threaten those I wish to kill."

"Can both of you just stow it?" snapped Thalia.

Viconia tore her eyes off the surface elf with great difficulty, her lip curling. "Pardon me," she said, "the mere presence of this darthiir is an offence to my blood. Millennia ago, they drove my people underground and have sought our extinction—"

"I tolerated the Rashemi in relative silence. You can do the same for the enemies of  _your_ blood," said Edwin with a casual roll of his eyes.

Thalia stared and Viconia fell silent. Imoen gasped. It was the first time any had mentioned Dynaheir and Minsc since they had met with his commanders. Thalia felt a sudden itch to run him through, but a pained heaviness of shame settled in her bones, preventing her from doing anything but staring at his nerve in disgust.

Coran felt the shift in atmosphere. "What happened to the Rashemi?" he asked, confused.

Thalia shook her head and turned to continue down the path. Imoen walked closer to her, until their shoulders brushed. "Coran, Viconia is trustworthy. Viconia, we need Coran. There will be no blood spilt today unless it is Daeve's," she said with a note of finality.

Coran caught up with them quickly and continued to guide them. The elves didn't say another word against each other, though it seemed impossible for them to refrain from their dirty looks and loud, pointed comments about spiders.

The day wore on and when the sun hung low in the sky, a surly Coran declared it was time to quit for the day. Without a tent and deep into the magical woods, even Viconia was cautious enough to ward the clearing they had found. Soon, both her and Edwin's wards hovered a few inches off the ground, swaying in a large hoop that held their open bedrolls and a campfire.

Coran took the opportunity to hunt a pair of wild birds for them that, once roasted in the fire, had a fatty dark meat. Imoen ripped up some dandelion greens from the ground and dressed them with a few handfuls of tart raspberries. If it were not for the tense silence, thought Thalia as she mopped up the last of the bird's fat with a piece of hardtack, it would've been the best meal she had eaten on the road. It might've even made up for the bugs they fought off.

Having the elves take watch all night was the sensible thing, as elves required only a handful of hours of trance to rest for a night. Still, Thalia volunteered herself to pacify the both of them, who seemed convinced the other would kill them in their reverie.

She settled herself on a large rock on the outskirts of the camp, throwing dagger in hand. She was also still more than a little terrified of sleeping herself. Despite Edwin professing he knew all about her dreams and their meanings, she was still convinced he didn't know near as much as he wanted her to think he did.

Small footsteps came up behind her.

"Budge over, you," said Imoen, forcing Thalia to make room before she could move. Imoen crossed her legs, a scaly covered book in her lap. She sucked on a wing bone absently as she turned pages.

"Is that your… spellbook?" asked Thalia, surprised.

"Uh-huh," said Imoen. She looked up with the dare of a smile pulling at her lips. "Wanna see it?"

Before Thalia could do more than smile, Imoen already thrust the book onto her lap. The creamy pages turned with a crinkle. In careful rounded penmanship, each page dictated the spell's name, effects, incantation, component, and a stick figure with too-large stick hands to describe motions made.

" _Dancing Lights_ , that's one of my favourites — it's so much fun…  _Mending_ , yeah, I've had to use that one a lot on this book already…  _Feather Falling_  — oh, you think I should prepare it for the mines? Probably, I think… And Viconia taught me  _Sanctuary_ , because she wouldn't teach me anything with proper invisibility."

Thalia traced the ragged stump of the first torn out page.  _Longstrider_. The first ambitious spell Dynaheir had taught her.

Imoen bit her lip.

"Wanna tell me about your magic?" she said in a forced voice. "I've shown you mine."

Thalia felt herself laugh but it didn't sound like her. "I don't think so," she said.

"Oh, come on," whined Imoen. "Edwin's got his summoning thing and Viconia has her Shar thing and I've got my learning thing—"

"I got an evil Murder thing," said Thalia. "I'm not looking to experiment with it, much as  _he_ wants me to." She jerked her head back towards the fire, where Edwin sat in deep meditation on his own spellwork.

"Why don't you tell me what you've done?" said Imoen, taking her spellbook back. She held it close to her chest. "Can't be all bad, can it?"

Thalia looked into Imoen's face and knew that was exactly what she was worried about. That something Dark and Evil was eating Thalia inside out and she wouldn't talk about it. In truth, aside from her own fear, she had never felt anything dark  _or_  evil about the magic she had summoned.

"No," said Thalia in a small voice. "It isn't. I'm just being a worrywort."

At this, Imoen perked up. "Eh, what else is new?"

Thalia looked back at Imoen's precious spellbook and thought of the torn out page. "I just wish…"

"What?"

A lump of guilt burned at the back of her throat. She wondered how much Dynaheir had known. She had deduced enough to be fearful but had still grown to trust Thalia as an adventuring companion, as a friend. How different it would have been if Dynaheir still lived? Her quiet confidence in her powers, the calm rationality of her mind. She might have known how to manipulate, to suppress or even turn to good the spark Thalia carried. She would have.

"I just wish it was actual dragonhide," finished Thalia weakly, pointing to Imoen's book.

Her jaw dropped open. "It's  _wyvernhide_ , that's a kind of dragon!"

"Why don't you go prepare  _Feather Fall_  in case we need to go down a mineshaft?" said Thalia.

Offended and muttering darkly under her breath, Imoen hurried over to Viconia for more magical instruction. Thalia turned her attention to the darkness of the woods and felt a hollow pit open up in her chest as her eyes burned with unshed tears.

**)*(**

In the days to come, Coran only led them deeper into the Cloakwoods. While they crossed the familiar rocky coastline, she felt further away from civilization than ever before. The forest grew denser, the undergrowth thicker and scratchier, and the path vanished altogether under their feet. The land curved into lush mounds, providing yet another obstacle. The sweetness of berries and spring greenery disappeared, replaced by a sour earthy smell and the spray of salt.

As they came closer to the inevitable iron mines, Thalia's head swam with fears. The mine had been abandoned for years. They might come to a deserted compound, full of rusty, aging minecarts and brittle track. She couldn't even contemplate what they would do if Daeve wasn't there, if the trail went cold.

But, as they went deeper, her mind had little free time to fear as it was largely preoccupied with staying alive. They never did run into the Cloakwood werewolf pack, but there were numerous other beasts who saw the traveling group as a hearty snack. Poisonous wyverns, teleporting spiders, hungry hangman trees, not to mention the common insect population. Between swords, spells, summons, and arrows, they escaped the encounters little worse for wear, and even managed to have wyvern haunch for supper one night.

Four days deep into the woods, Thalia had learned to watch Coran's face for microexpressions. When his eyebrows twitched, she demanded to know what was wrong.

"I heard…. people," he said, confused. "There's not much beyond the mine, just the ravine's drop off into the Greater Chointhar River."

Thalia exchanged a thrilled look with Imoen.

"I'll admit," said Coran with a chuckle, "I thought the mine would be empty and you were an easy two hundred gold—"

"You  _paid_  this darthiir?"

"—but I'd be willing to fight these outlaws with you, if it would come to it," he finished in an annoyed tone. "Though I'm starting to change my mind," he called back.

"Your assistance would be welcome," said Thalia. "You're damn fine with a bow." She gave him what she hoped was a winning smile. He hadn't proven to be any better company, but she wasn't willing to turn down a potential ally in a fight.

He accepted the smile with a gracious nod. "Only too kind, my dear."

"Edwin," called Thalia, "what about that wand you have? Summoning or somesuch?"

The wizard scoffed some distance behind her. "And waste such a valuable arcane device on common brigands when my own spells are more than enough?"

He continued to mutter a stream of indecencies under his breath, but Thalia got the message and felt herself calm slightly. Another battle like Sharp Teeth without the Harpers or Rashemi could be risky, but so long as it was his competence and not his arrogance talking, Thalia felt they might be alright.

Another few difficult miles through the undergrowth and the sounds of shouting men drifted through the trees. Her heart leapt as the first bits of wooden framework broke through the gaps in the leaves. Whatever was inhabiting the Cloakwood Mines had rebuilt the wooden complex, marking a tall barrier with sharpened sticks to keep out the wildlife. Thalia doubted it was very successful, as she heard swords clanging and the shriek of a furious wyvern from within.

The only way into the compound was across a bridge over a rushing stream and, as the guards finished their battle, they returned to guard it. Better equipped than the bandits of Sharp Teeth in crude but thick iron armor, they each leaned on a spear as they watched the woods for more wild beasts.

Coran turned to Thalia, eyebrows raised, expectant. This assault was up to her. She groaned and walked back through the bush, out of earshot of the guards. She almost wished Jaheira and Khalid were back. Almost.

As she walked, a plan started to come together. Turning to Viconia's solemn face, she asked, "How does this sound?"


	18. Chapter 17: The Mines of Cloakwood

"Hail!" a cold voice called from the dark.

"Oy," whispered Merl, poking Gordon none too softly with the blunt end of his spear.

Gordon startled awake, slipping down the wall before he regained his senses. "Yeah, yeah," he muttered. He squinted and saw the figure at the end of their bridge. "This here's private property," he called.

It was a woman. City-made armor, scale plates shining like dragonscales. Much finer than anything their smiths were making. Could sell for enough to keep a bandit off the roads for good. She kept walking, her boots clinking on the first plank of the bridge.

"Relax," she said, her voice and face thin with impatience. "Malek's dead. I'm in charge of the Black Talons now. I'm here to meet with Daeve."

Merl's brow furrowed. "You should've sent word ahead."

It was his turn now to be bruised by the butt of a spear.

"Don't be rude," snapped Gordon. He turned back to the strange woman. "Daeve's still in his office in the mines, sir—uh, ma'am, but—"

Merl turned, shin still smarting, just in time to see a blade draw across Gordon's throat, cutting off his sentence. Eyes wide, blood poured down his armor. He gasped for air, falling.

"No!" screamed Merl.

He caught Gordon before he hit the ground. A small hand gripped his shoulder. A whistle sliced through the air and a sharp pain exploded across his own neck. He dropped Gordon and fell to his knees. Air hissed wetly through his throat.

The woman still watched them, her impatient features tinged with annoyance as she crossed the bridge. "Oh, come on," she said to someone behind them. "They were just going to let me in, too."

"I thought we were simply confirming Daeve was within," another, smoother voice said. "Perhaps we should have talked this plan over more."

"Probably."

A storm of footsteps ran over the bridge.

Merl's mind grew grey and foggy.

A heavy splash and the clang of metal on stone.

Hands rolled him over. He fell off the bridge. Icy water poured down his throat and blackness consumed him.

**)*(**

"We really should've talked about this more," said Thalia for the tenth time.

She paced back and forth. Viconia moved silently through the buildings around the complex, slitting the throats of the mostly sleeping bandits. So far, not a single alarm had been raised and she trusted none would.

"We're in now, that's what counts," said Imoen with a shrug.

Viconia left the barracks, cleaning off her blade with a dripping rag. "Not all are accounted for," she said in a grim voice. "The others are likely still within the mines with Daeve."

They moved on to the last building. As soon as they managed to wrench the doors open, Thalia realised it was a warehouse. Carts of pebbly iron slag, silvery ingots of iron stacked in crates to the ceiling, stolen pots and swords and plate armor stacked by a cold furnace for melting, and mounds of unrefined iron ore the colour of rust. The true treasure of the bandits of the Golden Strait. Enough iron to provoke a war.

Thalia closed and latched the door shut behind them, even as Imoen spluttered a complaint. She promised they would be back for it.

Viconia crept a dozen paces ahead of them in the darkness, nosing for the mine entrance. In the far corner of the compound stood a wooden shack. Viconia motioned for them to follow her inside. A dark office with scattered paperwork greeted them. A blackboard on the back wall noted quotas dating back months.

Viconia pressed her finger into the wax at the tip of a candle. It gave at her touch. "Still warm," she said.

Imoen conjured a set of lights that bobbed around the cramped office, throwing an unnatural white light over everything.

"Can't be far," said Thalia, paging through some of the discarded papers. Like the blackboard, they recorded the mine's production, the numbers of guards and slaves, meetings with Tazok's contacts. Some of them were over a year old.

"Is this something?" asked Imoen.

She had thrown open the doors at the end of the office, coming up with what was either an unusually small room or a large closet. It was barren, aside from a dented wooden rod that ran at waist-height along the perimeter. Imoen stepped onto it and leapt off with a small gasp of surprise.

Coran stepped into it and Thalia saw the room shift slightly with his weight. He smiled and reached out to Imoen.

"It's an elevator," he said with confidence. "It'll take us down."

Imoen climbed in uncertainly, the lights following her. The room shifted again but seemed stable. The rest of them clamoured in and Coran pulled the doors shut. Without any further provocation, the room slid downwards. A grinding gear and airy taste of a thin enchantment came from above.

When Thalia stared at him, Coran shrugged. "Baldur's Gate has a great many of them," he said.

The elevator slid faster, Thalia's stomach dropping with it. She tried to gauge how far and fast they went, but it made her feel dizzy. They must've been miles underground when it finally halted with a jerk.

Heart pounding, she pushed open the door. A series of roughened stone corridors opened before them. Like the Nashkel Mines, rail tracks lay down them, but the carts were filled with healthy iron ore. Dim torches lit the halls. At a word from Thalia, Imoen extinguished her magelights. They blinked to adjust to the sudden dimness, and continued at a slow, steady pace.

The mines were a disorganized maze, running into cave-ins and crossing back over each other. It took several tries, but finally Thalia felt they were going the right way. These corridors sloped downwards, deeper, as the bandits had excavated new passages.

A handful of guards patrolled, but they were always on their own and fell quickly before the fighting could echo and alert any other.

" _Waaaaaait_!" a shrill voice pipped. Out of the dim light, a kobold tripped over its thin legs. It stumbled to its knees and said in a broken Common, "No… no bandit.  _Pikiya_. Miner. No… leave."

Rather than the normal sinewy muscle, this kobold was beyond scrawny, elbows too pointed. Many of its scales had been chipped or damaged, showing a painful pink skin. It wore a thin sack that might have once contained flour with ragged holes torn for arms.

"There was a slave count upstairs," said Thalia to the others.

Imoen dropped to her knees, hands wide. It looked at her with too-big yellow eyes, trembling. "Friends," she said, pointing to herself and the rest of the group with a bright smile. She pointed further down the corridor and scowled. "Bad?"

The kobold nodded so hard, it started to sway.

Imoen pointed to the thin chest of the kobold. "How many?"

"Hundreds," said Thalia. She looked to Edwin, already knowing the answer. "Don't suppose you happen to speak kobold, do you?" He shook his head with a bemused smirk.

"You can't be serious," hissed Viconia. "I understand Imoen has some… hang ups about small creatures, but we can't waste time freeing slaves."

Imoen stood and fixed Viconia with a harsh glare. "It's not wasting time to him," she said, now holding hands with the distressed kobold. "These aren't the same ones from Nashkel."

Thalia cringed, remembering the hoard who poisoned the ores and pelted Imoen full of arrows.

"Take the other miners," said Thalia to the kobold in a careful voice. "And leave. No more guards."

The kobold looked between them all and started babbling excitedly in his own language. " _Nika, pidari pidba. Pipca!_ Thank. Leave!" He let go of Imoen's hand and with a startling speed, limped off down the tunnel, chirping to himself. Imoen giggled.

In spite of herself, Thalia felt a smile come to her face. She stood and drew her sword again. "We can clear the place of the rest of them once we've dealt with Daeve and any others," she promised to Imoen.

Viconia grunted, still bitter they let the kobolds run free. Why shouldn't she? There were no more guards behind them and it hadn't slowed them down much.

The deeper they went, the fewer guards they found. Apparently, they trusted the kobolds to work without much supervision. Thalia grimaced. How long had some of them been down here? Imoen continued passing along the message to other weak kobolds they happened across, who bounded off back along the corridors in much better spirits.

All at once, the mines changed. The walls and ground smoothed, polished to an unnatural shine that no common tool could make. The corners stood sharp, the angles too perfect.

Coran stroked the sudden change in the texture, his face wrinkled in concern. "I was here many years ago. Most of these passages were completely collapsed," he said. "The rock was too unstable to mine properly."

"What're you trying to say?" asked Thalia.

"It's been splintered with magic," said Viconia before Coran could respond. "It's how the drow carve cities out of solid rock."

"We-We're not going to the Underdark, are we?" asked Imoen with a nervous chuckle. She pretended to brush dirt off her cloak, but was clearly frightened.

Viconia gave a similar hollow laugh. "Never, but we are dealing with a powerful wizard."

"There was a woman, a mage," said Thalia suddenly. "The night the armored figure killed Gorion. He had a number of allies, but I don't remember seeing her dead."

At the mention of Gorion, Imoen gave her a sympathetic smile. Thalia didn't need it. Things were beginning to slide into place again. She felt the same thing before the assault on the bandit camp of the Woods of Sharp Teeth. She could feel it. Sarevok was close. This time he was, he had to be.

As they turned the last corner, the smooth mine walls opened into a large office space. It wasn't overcrowded with finery, but a handful of rugs decorated the polished rock. Books stacked themselves in corners and a powerful desk dominated the room. Hallways forked off to other such neatly ordered rooms. Behind the desk, burning the midnight oil, was Daeve.

"One moment," he said mildly, and he continued to scribble away.

Daeve was the spitting image of his younger brother. His long black hair slicked back, the narrow features identical, but there was something a little mad and far too calm about his smile.

He blotted his writing with a sprinkle of fine ponce. At last, he corked the bottle of ink on the desk and folded his hands. "And how may I help you?" he said smoothly.

Thalia took another look at them all, sprinkled with the blood of the guards upstairs, their weapons tensed. She turned back to him, unsettled.

"I'm actually looking for Sarevok," said Thalia.

Daeve's brows knit together in confusion. "I'm afraid I don't know who that is," he said.

Thalia started. There was something too calm about his demeanor, but some dark part of her dared to suggest he was telling the truth. He had to be lying. Thalia felt her fingers tremble as she sheathed her sword and advanced on Daeve. His calm, stupid face infuriated her.

"Oh, I'm sure you know Sarevok," she said with a hard voice. "Seven feet tall, broad like an ogre? Spiked armor of doom? He's had you put a half dozen hits out on me. I'm Thalia, by the way." Her voice heightened with her anger as Daeve nodded mildly. "Thalia, formerly of Candlekeep, formerly Ward of Gorion, currently Avenger of Gorion."

He extended his hand "Pleased to meet you, Thalia the Avenger of Gorion," he said. "I've Daeveorn of Calimshan, but you may call me Daeve."

A heat rose up her neck. She ignored the offered hand. Instead, she drew the dagger from her belt and made to stab him, but the blade connected with thin air. His outline shimmered and she just saw the ghost of a smile before he vanished.

She panicked, but then heard the low drum of a chanting wizard. He had teleported to one of the connecting rooms. She drew her sword as she ran.

Daeve had already completed his first spell. A portal tore open with the sound of screeching metal. The portal scorched the walls and a blistering heat poured from it. Thalia shielded herself with her arms as a pair of slow and stocky fire elementals stepped out. Living flames, bound tightly by magic and will. The stone floor reddened with their step. Arrows from Coran and Imoen sunk into them with a harmless sizzle. Of course, thought Thalia. Wood.

Thalia dodged their first attacks. She didn't want to think what could happen if they hit her metal armor — or sword.

She searched the room for Daeve, but he had vanished again. Imoen threw her a worried look. The elementals flanked her into a corner.

"Deal with Daeve," called Thalia, dodging another hefty punch from the elementals "Don't let him escape."

She sidestepped another swipe from a massive fiery arm, but already knew she had made a mistake. She had stepped into the path of the other one's next blow. She leaned out of the way but felt the fist connect with her left arm. A screaming pain exploded through her forearm and she cried out. Metal chain dripped like water, the leather shriveled and wrinkled. She smelled something charred and realised it was her. But the one who hit her had too much momentum, he stumbled after the hit. Thalia took the chance and ran past the elementals. She felt the scorching heat of another close miss.

The high-pitch scream of another portal sounded in her ear. She nearly stumbled through it in her shock, and was all but consumed by a soaking chill. A sweepingly tall water elemental sloshed out, directly through her. Her arm screamed at the sudden cold. Thalia bolted, drenched with frigid fresh water, and briefly saw the fire elementals vainly try to injure the water. The figure reached out as it to hug them and crashed as a tidal wave. They gave a crackling roar as they went out.

In the main office, Daeve was having a whale of a time. With a seemingly endless amount of teleportation spells, he avoided the others' attacks by the slimmest of margins, summoning other beasts for them to put down before they could turn their attacks back to him.

He cackled and called a trio of shadowy imps before vanishing again. The imps spun in mid-air, pulling faces at Coran before dodging his arrows.

Daeve had so much fun he didn't realise he appeared almost directly in front of Thalia. She grabbed him with her good arm and put her dagger to his neck.

"Oh, yes," she said through gritted teeth as he tried to throw her off him, "it's  _very_  nice to meet you."

Coran gave him a solid right hook and he stopped resisting. While Thalia held him still, Viconia sorted through his robes, throwing aside his spellbook, scrolls, and components. Thalia threw Daeve back into his chair.

He winced at the reddening mark on his cheek. "Can I have some ice for this?" he said, panting.

Thalia threw down her helmet and wrung out her hair one-handed. She was soaked and chilled to the bone. Her stomach heaved when she saw the wound on her arm. Like the leather, layers of skin shriveled back, blackening as they exposed the raw red flesh underneath. Only the edges still throbbed with pain, the central patches of the flesh numb to all sensations.

"And I'd like a towel," she said, fighting a wave of nausea. "But we don't all get what we want."

"Not my fault you walked through a water elemental," said Edwin stiffly. "I am more accustomed to working with warriors with better sense."

"And I'd appreciate a warning next time you want to summon things on top of me," said Thalia with an uncomfortable groan. She felt the water slosh in her boots and soak through her layers of armor.

Daeve chuckled, drawing everyone's attention back to him. "It did look quite funny," he said.

Assessing their injuries, Viconia turned to Thalia and put a hand on her arm. Her single healing spell hurt nearly as much as the fire elemental had. Thalia gasped through gritted teeth, but the deepest few layers of skin smoothed out and turned a tight, tender pink. It still throbbed, but no longer screamed at her, though it seemed the sensation had been lost permanently in most of the wound.

She inspected the arm and then turned to Daeve.

"Tell me about Sarevok," said Thalia again in a much harder voice.

Daeve still looked confused. "Sarevok has nothing to do with the mines and he certainly hasn't ordered me to send assassins after anyone," he said.

"Then, how do you know his name?" asked Thalia.

"He's just Rieltar's son." When Viconia left the room to go to one of the side chambers, he called out, "Check my records, if you like."

"Tell us about the mines, then," said Thalia, exasperated. "How did this come about?"

Daeve leaned back in his chair, evaluating her. "You won't kill me," he said with certainty. "I offended your high and noble morals."

"I nearly killed you when you pissed me off before," she said, sitting on his desk. He cringed as water dripped over the fine wood. A thought came to her. It tasted like poison in her mouth. "I killed your little brother," she said in a softer voice. Her heart panged as she remembered the teenager, the accident in battle, but she kept Daeve's eye.

"That little bastard." He laughed but something twitched behind his mild expression. "You didn't," he added.

"How do you think I found this place?"

Gears turned in his head and something heavy settled on Daeve's shoulders. He sighed at last. "Rieltar came to me early last year," he started in a dull voice. "He and his family were always a little… odd, so when he told me I would never know the whole plan, I didn't question it. Rieltar wanted me to smuggle iron out of the Woods of Sharp Teeth and into a ship docked at Baldur's Gate. I told him about the mine and things took off. Some ugly half-orc became the smuggler — out of Sharp Teeth, into here. Rieltar paid very well and we used a few rusty contacts of mine in the Shadow Thieves to eliminate some odds and ends. The bandits robbed caravans, broke the supply routes, and choked the Gate. When things became too desperate, Rieltar was going to buy Nashkel at a pinnace and reveal all the iron we had locked away here. It would have made us all a fortune. Between Cloakwood and Nashkel, we would have been the only suppliers of iron in the entire Sword Coast."

"And that's it?" asked Thalia, her lip curling. "A greedy businessman and his layabout son were on the brink of starting a war so they could buy the mines?"

Edwin scoffed. "It wouldn't have been the first time. Very clever execution, though."

Thalia gave him a dirty look.

"What about the people you eliminated?" Viconia had returned, a stack of loose papers in hand. "What connects a baker from Amn and a pair of apprentice cobblers from Calimshime with a ward of Candlekeep?" She handed Thalia the notes on the hits.

Daeve shrugged. "Your guess is as fine as mine, I—"

"—didn't ask questions," finished Thalia as she read the bounties. Sarrar, Daughter of Hassan. Jeb and Kin, Sons of Vandal. Thalia, Daughter of Gorion. As Viconia had said, a baker and a pair of cobblers. Common, young citizens of very remote towns with everyday jobs. Unremarkable in every way. Still, Rieltar had paid Daeve thousands for each kill, though he had skimped on hiring the assassins to take them out.

The names ticked something in Thalia's head.

"Where is Rieltar now?" asked Viconia.

"Baldur's Gate."

"Do you know where we could find him in Baldur's Gate?"

"He and his older brothers are the patriarchs of House Anchev. They have some manor in the city."

"And what about the ship?"

"Aye, Rieltar has a few ships docked at the Gate. The  _Bitch Queen's Revenge_ and the  _Dauntless._ "

Thalia felt her blood run cold and she turned to Edwin.

"Elminster," she whispered.

"I beg your pardon?"

She knew she was right. Their packs were outside but, secreted away in a tiny tube, was the letter Gorion had received in warning, months ago. Signed E for Elminster.

"He told Gorion that Hassan had lost hers and—and Vandal had lost his," she said, her jaw dropping open.

"Rieltar's hunting down Bhaalspawn," said Edwin with narrowed eyes.

"Not Rieltar." Thalia shook her head, turning back to Daeve. "Sarevok.  _He's_  the Bhaalspawn. They had already taken out three, who knows how many others through other means, and they got cocky. Sarevok wanted to kill one himself. He came to Candlekeep and..." she trailed off. Her knees felt weak. "How, in Tempus's name, is he  _finding_  them? He can't be working off a list, Elminster kept all us hidden for twenty years."

Edwin smirked to himself.

"What is so damned funny?" she snapped.

"Do you think you are the only one who dreams of Bhaalspawn?" he said in a quiet, mocking voice.

Her knees felt weak. Of course not. All her life, she had dreams of far-off lands, people's daily lives and little joys. They always disturbed her, as though she saw something she was not meant to. The only question was, how much had Sarevok seen? How much did he know?

Daeve chuckled uneasily. "You—You're not serious, are you? The Bhaalspawn are a prophecy the priests of Cyric tell when you give them too much wine. They're not  _real_.'

Thalia took a deep breath. "Of course not. Thank you, you've been very helpful." She stood behind his chair and felt him breathe a sigh of relief. She unsheathed her dagger. "I didn't like the way you enslaved those kobolds, though."

He tensed briefly before the dagger cut across his throat. He floundered for a few moments before falling limp, facedown on his desk. She kept her promise to his brother and hoped he was watching from the Grey Marshes.

"Alright," said Thalia. "Time to go. I could really use a hot fire and change of clothes."


	19. Chapter 18: The City of Baldur's Gate

They salvaged what they could from the mines and guided the delirious kobolds back to the surface. Coran assured them the kobolds were native to the Cloakwoods and would find their old lives soon enough. Most of Daeve's meticulously kept paperwork was useless, the letters detailing what he had already said, or otherwise of no use to them.

While Thalia wouldn't let Imoen touch Daeve's spellbook, his loose scrolls were free game. She and Edwin argued viciously over a few choice ones, but eventually came to a compromise: Imoen would get the  _Invisibility_ spells and Edwin would take the remainder of Daeve's  _Dimensional Door_  scrolls that had let him teleport around the room.

They stole the Bags of Holding the bandits had used to smuggle iron, which thrilled Imoen to no end. Inside, it was like looking into a deep pit. As they were empty, they set about filling them all with the stolen iron. Despite not being able to carry a five thousand coin bounty, the sacks, once full of a year's worth of iron in the Coast, could be stuffed into Imoen's backpack alone.

Coran rekindled the fire in the guards barracks. He whistled merrily and jabbered along with Imoen about freeing slaves and battling evil wizards — just like in the songs. Thalia stripped off her armor and clothes, wrapping herself tightly in a blanket. She dried in the gentle heat while the others set about raiding the bandits' foodstocks for a midnight snack.

Thalia yawned. They had a direction again, a plan. Daeve had lead further to Sarevok and it felt like everything was piecing together. With the Cloakwood Mines gone, Rieltar would know soon something was wrong. They had to make it to Baldur's Gate as fast as they could, before Sarevok knew when they were coming.

Thalia yawned again and crawled into a chair. Perhaps if she badgered Coran enough, he could cut a day or two off the trip out of Cloakwoods. Then another day back up to the Friendly Arm, a day to Baldur's Gate. And then searching the manor houses…

But Thalia was already asleep

**)*(**

Sarevok. Before the rest of the world filled in behind him, she could already count the furrowed lines on his brow and the ticks as his jaw clenched and unclenched. Instead of the silken doublet, he wore loosened day clothes, the black breeches tucked into soft leather boots.

By the heavy sword on his back and the sweat he wiped from his face, Thalia had guessed he had recently taken Winksi's advice to go kill something. He jogged up a handful of steps and shoved open a pair of wooden doors to a grand entrance hall.

A pair of guards at the door nodded to him with a familiar smile. White ceramic tiles painted in endless geometric patterns directed to a grand staircase flanked by a series of green marble pillars. Other side doors led into further rooms of finery, but he passed by it all and ran upstairs. He was late.

As he put his hand on the handle, the door opened. A short, angry, old man stood behind it.

"You're late," barked Winski.

Sarevok pushed past him, beyond caring or even pretending to care. "I know, I know," he said. "Rieltar will be home shortly." A clean set of clothes waited for him on the bed and he started to change.

"Oh, it's not that," said Winski through thin, white lips. "Shalk arrived earlier this afternoon."

Sarevok stared, his shoulders tensing again. Something like fear wavered in his eyes. "Truly?"

"You are lucky none of the patriarchs saw him," said Winski. "I hurried him off into my office, but he wants to speak with you."

Sarevok splashed his face with water from a washbowl and checked his reflection in a silver mirror. "Then, I suppose I better meet with him," he said with a smile.

Winski gripped his upper arm with a strength that made Sarevok raise an eyebrow. "Shalk will be expecting the Lord of Murder, not the Throne's whelp," he snarled.

Sarevok nodded solemnly and changed his bright smile to a scowl. "Grrr." He shook Winski off and his scowl turned genuine. "Get off me."

Only more furious than before, Winski shadowed Sarevok as they made their way upstairs to the office at the top of the tower. Within, was a creature beyond description. While it might have been humanoid in silhouette, that was as far as Thalia recognised it. Its translucent skin felt papery and slimey and it wrinkled deeply, as though several sizes too large for it, but it bore no skin colour ever seen on a mortal or tiefling. It shifted endlessly through iridescent hues, each colour a vague approximation of another. Sexless, without hair, clothes, or expression, its features were like clay pushed around too long by a bored sculptor. Before her eyes, they shifted into other features, sometimes into shapes that were never seen on a face with hard edges or impossible twitching length. It reached out a crooked stump in greeting, its muscles writhing like worms beneath the skin as it grew five peach-toned fingers in a perfect replica of a human hand.

"Lord Sarevok Anchev," it said in an ethereal, echoing voice.

Sarevok hid his disgust and shook the newly grown human hand. "Shalk of the Shallal," he said, "I am so pleased you made it. How has the Sword Coast treated you and your tribe?"

Shalk shook its head, but too far, the neck twisted like butter. "It has not been kind, but it never has been to our people," it said mournfully. "I look forward to wearing their skins."

Sarevok smiled mildly, eyes wide. "Before we settle your accommodations, perhaps we should hammer down the last few details of our arrangement?"

It nodded, the motion too exaggerated to be natural. The shifting of its features quickened with excitement, then it settled with a suddenness that even off-set Winski. The creature shrunk almost a foot, the skintone snapped to a pale peach, and it appeared as a woman like any other. Squared jawline, the green dress of a noble, long straw-like hair.

It smiled, the eyes at last snapping to a bleak grey. "Excellent," it said in a feminine voice. "Let's get started."

Something haunted passed behind Sarevok's eyes and he struggled, holding back some words or further emotion.

"Yes, of course, Shalk," said Winski loudly, guiding the creature to the desk where a number of papers waited.

"Not that one," said Sarevok in a hollow voice. "Choose your form as you wish, but stay in that one a moment longer and I will kill you myself."

The skin Shalk wore smiled, bright and dazzling. It shifted, molding with the clay, growing, broadening with a mocking slowness. When it stopped, it wore Sarevok's own shape, down to the mud on his boots. It wore the same cheerful smile, but a cruelty lurked in its eyes.

"That's not much of a threat," it said softly in Sarevok's own voice. "Why not 'flay the skin from your flesh and make a nice tailored jacket'? It's far more practical and you may even enjoy feeling the arms around you once more."

"I am the Lord of Murder, not the Lord of Tailoring," snapped Sarevok. His hand twitched for his sword.

Shalk looked him up and down. "Well, yes, I suppose you are," it said. It chuckled before sweeping the prepared papers to the floor. "I don't do negotiation. Twenty-five thousand to retain my tribe until your ascension. We make our own way in terms of board. Let us deal with the corpses we make. Does this sound acceptable?"

Sarevok thought a moment. "No children. No unnecessary deaths. I didn't call your tribe to be butchers," he said in a hard voice.

Shalk laughed, a cold, cruel noise that made Sarevok cringe. "Baldur's Gate will never know we were here," it swore, extending a hand to shake on the deal.

Sarevok hesitated, clenching his jaw as he considered the offer. Shalk smirked at the doubt. Locking eyes with his mirror, Sarevok relented and accepted Shalk and its tribe.

"Showtime," whispered Shalk with a wink.

**)*(**

Thalia woke with a gasp that turned into a cough. She nearly fell from the chair and it took her a moment to realise where she was. She brushed the frazzled hair from her face. It was completely dry. She wondered how long she had been asleep.

"No more thrashing," said a dreadful voice. Next to her, no longer bothering to hide his intense obsession, sat Edwin. "Pleasant dreams?"

"Sarevok," said Thalia reluctantly, wrapping the blanket more tightly around her.

Edwin sat back, disappointed and disinterested. "Oh."

"He was making a deal with some sort of creature," said Thalia, furrowing her brow as she remembered Shalk and the disturbing look in its not quite human eyes. She described the creature to Edwin, who took a renewed interest in the dream.

" _Stutzan dreyan_ ," he said with a bitter smile. "Twin-strangers. I believe Westerners call them 'mirrorkin'."

"That doesn't help me any," said Thalia, frustrated. "What does he need them for? Shalk said it and its tribe were being retained until Sarevok's ascension, but to what?"

Edwin froze, his eyes widening briefly before he regained control of his expression.

"What?"

"It is of no concern."

" _What?"_

"Nothing."

"Edwin, I swear to the gods—"

"By the glory of Thay, there's no need for threats, woman," snapped Edwin. He sighed and ran a hand over his head. "The Cyricists have a prophecy. When Bhaalspawn die, their fragment of the divine spark is split between surviving Bhaalspawn. The prophecy so goes that a single Bhaalspawn will rise above the others, slaughtering them and, once in full possession of Bhaal's divinity, rise to become the new Lord of Murder to challenge their Lord Cyric. It's their 'end of times' nonsense."

Thalia thought over Sarevok, Tamoko's pleading with him to not follow Rieltar's path, Winski's iron eyes and bid to leave behind his mercy, and Sarevok's own far too familiar use of fighting to clear his head.

"He believes it," said Thalia with certainty. "It's why he's hunting down Bhaalspawn."

The door to the barracks opened behind her. Imoen and Coran burst in, laughing to themselves and carrying an armful of tarts stolen from the kitchen. Imoen forced a tart in Thalia's hand and kissed her on the head.

"How's your arm doing?" asked Imoen.

Thalia flexed it. Pain shooted up and down the muscles. "It'll be fine," she said, taking a bite of the tart. It was sweet and rich, filled with nuts and dried fruit.

Imoen turned to head to bed but Thalia stopped her and asked her to get Viconia in here. Surprised, Imoen went back outside and returned with her. Giving Coran an uncertain look, Thalia took a deep breath and explained her most recent dream to them.

She expected further questions and held his eye until he looked away. The colour had drained from his face. He chuckled uneasily and stood. "You seem a lovely girl," he said without any sense of his former flattery. "But I think I've had enough of this. Once I get you out of the Cloakwoods, I'm gonna head back to the Drunken Werewolf for a few bottles of strong red."

With that, the conversation was over for him and he chose a different building to sleep in.

"What a pansy," said Imoen grumpily. "And to think, with all his nice words… what a pity."

Thalia turned to Viconia. She hadn't expected Imoen to know anything about mirrorkin but at Viconia's blank look, her heart fell.

"Waesszintek," said Edwin in a bored voice.

Viconia bristled at the use of drow, but nodded shortly to Thalia. "Waesszintek are not terribly uncommon in the Underdark," she said. "Skin-walkers are often used in espionage among the high houses since masters of their art are neigh undetectable from the original. They're able to pick forms and faces from memories as cleanly as plucking a flower. With such faces, they can garner secrets, destroy alliances, ruin reputations. They have little command of traditional magic, but they have little need for it." She reached for a tart from Imoen with an unfortunate look on her face. "In any form, they retain a powerful physical strength. I… would not wish to meet any in battle."

Imoen gasped, a smile lighting her eyes. "We should come up with a code," she said. "To make sure we're not mirrorkinned, just like in the songs."

"I don't think that's a word, Im," said Thalia, suppressing a smile.

Imoen waved away her words. "They don't get our memories, right?" Viconia nodded warily. "Then, how about we ask for them to give the real name of the Bitch Queen, but our answer will be Tymora."

Thalia grinned. "You don't think she would be  _more_  offended at that than using her actual name?"

"I don't plan on heading out to sea anytime soon," scoffed Imoen. "Plus, she'll understand. It might save our lives."

"I don't think she's very understanding," said Thalia, barely holding back her own laughter. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Edwin groan and leave, muttering under his breath. Good riddance.

Viconia reluctantly agreed to the code, though she didn't know the true name of the Bitch Queen regardless, and they all shuffled off to bed.

**)*(**

By morn, the kobolds had completely sacked the kitchen. The former slaves had eaten to their hearts' content and made slow progress back into the woods. A whooping chirp went through the surviving crowd as the kobolds had their breakfast and left the complex for good.

The journey back to the edge of the Cloakwoods took longer than Thalia had hoped, even as she and Coran walked as long into the night as they dared. Disturbed wildlife still didn't take too kindly to the adventurers parading around in their woods. Each night, Viconia would use her daily healing spell on Thalia's burn until the skin toughed, healing over into a pink raised scar. On the the third day, the trees finally broke and they stumbled out into the Golden Straight.

"Hello, open road!" cried Imoen. She fell to her knees, embracing the paving stones. "Oh, Tymora, I'll never leave you again."

Before he left, Coran nodded at them, tight-lipped, and Thalia knew he was still unsettled by her and the Bhaalspawn. At least he was able to forget it with a few bottles.

They returned to the Friendly Arm Inn well after nightfall, but the hours spent walking did little to calm Thalia's frazzled nerves. The whole mirrorkin nonsense didn't sit right with her. Who were they planning to impersonate? From what they had gleaned from Daeve and his papers, Rieltar and Sarevok had no use for espionage. But, what of Winski? The name had not cropped up among the mine's paperwork, but he seemed in the thick of it.

She dropped a handful of silver on the publican's bar and he handed her three keys. Edwin snatched his and retired without so much as a goodnight. Imoen yawned and slid her pack from her shoulders. It rattled like a cargo hold, the iron in her Bags of Holding complaining all the while.

"We'll want to make it an early night," said Thalia. "Get to the Gate before the Anchevs realise they've lost Cloakwood."

"Whatever you say, captain," said Imoen.

But Imoen could hardly stay awake. Even when they set a bowl of creamy fish stew in front of her, chunky with clams and leeks, she nearly dunked her head in it. At last, Thalia marched Imoen up to their room. There were some weak complaints, but Imoen wrangled out of her armor and was snoring before her head hit the pillow.

When she returned downstairs, Viconia's eyes danced with a smirk.

Thalia took Imoen's half-finished dinner. "Something the matter?"

"The way you put her to bed, as a child," said Viconia, prodding her own stew. "I never would have dared to treat my sisters in such a manner." There was not so much judgement as wistfulness in her voice.

Thalia tore of a chunk of bread to soak in her stew. "Feel free to treat her like that," she said. "Especially if she gets drunk."

Viconia fell silent. Thalia knew what she was thinking. She wouldn't be around much longer. As soon as they had dealt with Sarevok, Viconia would return to finding some distant plot of land to tend to find peace and Thalia would begin her flight from the Red Wizards.

"I've been thinking," said Thalia casually, "when this is all done with, I'm sure we could find one more solid bounty to take care of and buy a farm somewhere out in the northern Dales. Wheat, oats, sheep, the whole lot."

Viconia took a bite of the stew under her scarf. "I thought that was my plan."

"There's plenty of room in the Dales, or perhaps further south to escape the Red Wizards," said Thalia. She smiled and, although she couldn't see Viconia's mouth, she thought she smiled back. "You know how much Imoen would love to be neighbours."

"She has brought that up," she admitted. Viconia pushed around her stew thoughtfully. "It is something I have been thinking as well."

Thalia returned to Imoen's stew, thinking of the picture Imoen no doubt painted to Viconia a dozen times over their magical practice sessions. Fields of waving golden wheat, cold blue sky, quiet manors a day's walk from Waterdeep, pens of sheep, mousing cats, shaggy dogs. If they could bring down Sarevok. Thalia didn't finish the thought, but evidently, Viconia had the same one.

"Sarevok is the son of a high lord," said Viconia in a blank, featureless voice. "I am assuming it means the same among your kind as it does mine? Wealth, status, political influence?"

Thalia moved Imoen's bowl aside and returned to her own. It had grown thick and cold. "I know," she said shortly.

"I see."

Silence fell heavily and Thalia tried not to think of it.

"I want to ensure you understand," said Viconia, "so there is no hesitation when the time comes—"

"I will have no trouble murdering him," said Thalia with a bleak smile. "It's in my blood."

"Even if you have to kill him in his bed?" Viconia's eyes hardened and narrowed. Thalia couldn't hold the stare. "If you have to slink off into the night as a criminal, with no grand battle, no standoff, no way to look him in the eye and let him know it is you?"

"Yes." She didn't hesitate. Thalia felt her spoon scrape the bottom of the bowl and she shoved it aside. "Gorion gave his life for me," she said. "The least I can do is put aside what honour I do have to avenge his death."

Viconia's eyes softened, not with pity but approval. "So long as you understand." She pushed her unfinished dinner aside. "I've had enough of this surfacer seafood," she said, her lip curling, and Thalia understood their conversation was over.

They stood and turned to their rooms upstairs. Thalia entered quietly, so as to not wake the snoring Imoen. Her mind spun over Viconia's last accusation. She hadn't hesitated to say she would kill Sarevok in his bed, to give up looking into his eyes and taking her revenge. But had she actually been asking if Thalia was willing to let Viconia kill Sarevok? To slip unseen into his manor and slit his throat, while she waited outside?

Thalia settled into bed, her stomach churning. She hoped not. Then again, she thought, pushing her pillow into a more comfortable shape, Viconia could probably do it within an hour of entering the city.

**)*(**

When she opened her eyes, she instantly knew where the dream had dropped her. She lay flat on her back and as she stood, there was a roar of fire and the torches on her sides lit. The light guided her down a long passageway of a castle undercroft, the walls mossy and the air thin and drafty. Cobwebs strung in the corners and dozens of footprints sat in the otherwise undisturbed dust, but she wasn't afraid this time. Well, she was, but this time she knew where she was. Bhaal's abandoned realm.

Thalia followed the footprints without hesitation and came out in the same dusty throne room. The banners tattered, the tarnished seal of the smiling skull, the throne of swords, the faded and frayed runs of carpet, broken pillars and cracked stone bricks. The silence was heavy, oppressive, and the torches urged her further, lighting her way up a grand staircase to the walls of statues but she didn't follow.

The torches behind her started to flicker out with a chill but she stood firm, her hand on the hilt of her sword in case the master of the castle didn't enjoy her disobedience. She waited, heart pounding.

A silent minute passed and the great hall plunged into darkness, as long, dim shadows flickered through the tall windows. They showed a sky of tumbling red stormclouds, fields of bloody faded grass, and a twisted forest of rusted dead trees. Lightning flashed with a terrible crack that rattled the stone.

Thalia stood still, sure in her knowledge that, eventually, he would come. The same presence that had marked her nights with terror and had tried to bend her to his will. The voice in the darkness, the ghostly daggers of bone, the golden light in her statue's eyes. These weren't her dreams. They belonged to him, whatever was left of him. He would come, she knew it.

Sure enough, a terrible gale tore through the tunnels she had just left. The torches up the staircase blew out, throwing every passageway into complete darkness. Ignoring the presence, Thalia marched as calmly as she could up to the empty throne of swords.

She reached out to touch it and it was all she could do to not scream. Behind her, the presence gathered, focusing into a humanoid form and she felt its hot breath on the back of her neck.

The voice distinguished itself further. Sharp, cold, cunning, mocking, male. Angry. She held onto her own anger to stave off the fear.

_Lessons will be learned, great rebel, for strength flows through—_

"Bhaal," she interrupted.

She felt the briefest moments of surprise from the presence at having been named. In a second of sudden bravery, she turned to face him and felt her heart stop.

Bhaal appeared as he had in life. A young man, not that much older than Thalia herself, with a plain face and short black hair that did not suit his threatening voice. He wore the dark robes and leathers of an assassin, his bone daggers fitted in a belt across his chest. But his eyes seemed to hypnotise her. They were flat black, filled with the cold intelligence of a hunting beast and the power of a fallen god.

His thin lips curled into a smirk.  _So, daughter of mine—_

"Get out of my dreams," she said, holding back the tremor in her voice. "I will be no pawn to you or whatever plot you still have."

She drew her blade and slashed him in one smooth stroke, but he whispered away in a mirage, as substantial as a memory. The presence filtered away, drifting off into the distance, and she could feel him no longer.

In his absence, she trembled. Had it truly been so easy? A moment of foolish bravery in a dream had banished the ghost of the Lord of Murder? Confused and wary, she sheathed the sword and knew he would not be gone long. He would return. As he always would.

For now, there would be peace.

She barely finished the thought before the torches and braziers in the hall lit with a terrifying force. They roared to their full strength, not casting off the ominous shadows as they had before but throwing their merry crackling light into every corner of the hall. Her mind followed the sound of roaring torches as every light in the castle burst to life, the cobwebs and dust melting away as bad dreams in the morning. The banners and carpets wove themselves anew, taking on the rich colour of deep midnight. The stone bricks rumbled and shed their cracks and moss, the pillars rebuilt to touch the ceiling.

Beyond the windows, the deadly landscape calmed. The clouds floated away and the sky paled to a sepia, filling with a million bright stars. Inky black wolves ran as shadows through pale fields. The trees silvered as though painted with molten metal and grew leaves that twinkled like stars. Dozens of ravens croaked, flew, and nested through the forest.

Thalia backed from the windows, trembling. Behind her, metal crumbled. She turned back to the throne, mouth open, as the rust and blood fell away, revealing the newly forged and shining throne of swords. Firelight reflected back at her in each steel blade. It stood before her, powerful, dangerous, but no longer threatening.

Tentatively, she sat. A rush of power and warmth thundered through her, like a hound greeting its master after a long day. Bhaal's rusted crest fell off the wall behind her, clattering to her feet with a deafening echo.

**)*(**

"You have to eat, come on."

Imoen shoved another of her oatcake sandwiches at her. Sweet plum preserves oozed from the edges. Thalia took it but didn't eat it.

They left the Friendly Arm Inn at daybreak, without so much as an hour for breakfast. Despite planning on getting to Baldur's Gate before lunch, Imoen still bought food for the road.

"I'm not feeling well," she said, dejected.

She turned to see Edwin trailing behind. Now that they had returned to the road, he enjoyed the distance from casual conversation. She felt lucky. He had taken one look at her pale face this morning and gave her that too-familiar look she loathed.

Imoen reached to put a hand on Thalia's forehead, but Viconia understood. Still, this was one dream Thalia didn't want to share. She had a feeling she had interrupted the natural course of events, but she wasn't stupid. The Cyricists' prophecy of the Bhaalspawn, that they shared the divine spark and could even ascend to claim Bhaal's station, was true. The ruins of Bhaal's world had bent to her will.

Her stomach turned again. She could still hear the ancient seal fall from the wall as she took Bhaal's throne.

"If you don't eat something—" threatened Imoen.

Thalia shoved the oatcake in her mouth and forced a smile. The outside crunched, the inside chewy and hearty, and stuffed with last season's plums. It turned to ash in her mouth.

"There we go," said Imoen. She linked arms with Thalia and gave her another oatcake, which she dutifully ate. "I know it's getting close to showtime, but don't you worry. With Imoen the Quick here to defend you, Sarevok doesn't stand a snowball's chance!"

Perhaps Imoen knew her cheer fell flat, because it was one of the few times where a quiet hovered over them. Not a comfortable quiet, but anxious, filled with secrets.

The Golden Straight wove through Ulgoth's Beard. Fields of green shots faded off into the distance, stretching off into the fertile dark soil of the Dale Heartlands. The village was barely behind them when Thalia noticed the change in the road. For most of the Straight, the stones were sun-bleached, crooked, a myriad of shapes and sizes. Many were even missing, leaving holes a horse or man could turn an ankle in. The closer they got to the Gate, the stones became a uniform sea of deep grey squares, moss growing in between.

Imoen gasped next to her. Atop the cliffs overlooking the Sea of Swords, the city of Baldur's Gate loomed. Built on top of the ruins of a forgotten city, powerful walls rose against the sea in an attempt to keep the Bitch Queen's wrath at bay. Centuries of fisheries, peasants, taverns, chantries, and brothels, all piled on top of each other up the cliff side. Narrow alleys barely managed to pass between them. The buildings flashed white in the radiant sunlight, the larger towers and buildings fashioned of a sturdy grey brick. The manors of the noble families, who chose the reigning dukes from their own aristocracy, rose above them all. Due to its clever construction, the Greater Chointhar River flowed inwards to create a dock crowded with merchant galleys, river runners, and dozens of deep-welled fishing boats. Across the river, the clamour of the open markets reached them, lush with the catch of the day.

And above it all, sat the Blue Keep, the duchal palace. Covered bridges with grand arches criss crossed through the sky, connecting the many towers, as they had been built on different levels of the cliff. Their white stones glowed, contrasting the blue shingled spires. Flags the colour of the sea billowed from the top of every tower.

Across the bridge above the river, a sprawling peasant town greeted them, with all the expected smells and amenities of peasantry. The Golden Strait continued further past the town, northwards to the cosmopolitan cities of Neverwinter and Waterdeep, but Thalia and the others turned down the well-maintained cobbleroad to the front gate of Baldur's city. Her mouth grew dry.

Soldiers of the Flaming Fist stood guard at the colossal black iron gate and looked over the group suspiciously.

"Halt, citizens," said the one on the left.

"Is—Is the city not open?" asked Thalia, fearing the worst.

The other guard shrugged. "Officially, Baldur's Gate reopened after some Harpers reported the bandits of the Strait to have been dealt with," he said with a sneer. "Since the bandits are very clearly  _not_  dealt with, the Gate will remain closed until further notice."

At the mention of the Harpers — surely, Jaheira and Khalid — Thalia flushed. It wasn't their fault, of course, but she blamed them for it.

"We were the other half of that party," she said stiffly. " _We_  cleared out the bandits, very recently, in fact."

The guards exchanged a wary look.

"It ain't our problem, Rodd," one said. "Shift's done at high noon."

Rodd relented and made a call to someone up on the wall. A moment later, the black iron gate of Baldur's Gate began to rise with a rattling of chains.

Rodd waved them forward and ushered them into the city. Thalia barely had a chance to look over the flowering courtyard, the bustling marketplace, or the duchal chantry, as Rodd was in a hurry to finish his shift. He led them deeper into the city, coming to a stop before a square stone building that Thalia might have once called a fortress. The headquarters of the Flaming Fist of Baldur's Gate.

"Oy, Commander Scar!" shouted Rodd as the rest of them entered behind him. "Got the rest of that Harper party."

Commander Scar, despite his name, had a perfectly intact face free of all blemishes and injuries. He smiled thinly at their approach and reached out to shake Thalia's hand.

"Thalia, Ward of Gorion," she said.

"Commander Scar of the Fist here in the Sword Coast," he said. His voice was as thin as his smile, full of stress and sleepless nights. "We… have a problem."

Thalia managed to return the smile, but only barely. She tried to keep in mind that the farm, the sheep and wheat. "I am at your disposal, Commander," she said.

His thin smile grew and relief flitted over him. "The Harpers Hall here in the Gate is just down the road," he said. "Your old adventurering companions are already assisting, but we've made no true progress as of yet. I'm sure they will fill you in."

Thalia's smile wavered, but she nodded. "Very well."

Dumped back onto the streets of Baldur's Gate, Viconia wasted no time laying into her.

"With all due respect," she said in a way that suggested Thalia was due very little, "I would rather not be in the employ of the Flaming Fist. If we are so hard on money, let Imoen burgle a half dozen houses."

Imoen beamed at the suggestion but Thalia shut it down.

"They aren't looking to kill you now," said Thalia. "Besides, I would rather not break more laws here than we must."  _Seeing as we're here to assassinate the son of a noble_.

Disagreeing, Viconia held her tongue as they continued down the road. The painted mural of Elminster and an elven warrior bearing a harp was hard to miss. Within, the Harper's Hall looked like any other common guildhouse. Trophies from expeditions lined the walls, a long banquet table for celebrations, a balcony overlooking the firepit in the centre, and everywhere the navy blue banner of the Harpers, Elminster's crescent moon cradling a harp. A handful of Harpers, all dressed for war, milled about. Despite it being mid-day, one of them stumbled drunkenly into a flower pot.

It was quite a far cry from the fabled Harpers of legend, thought Thalia, but then she spotted Jaheira and Khalid. They were deep in conversation over a pair of cups, but Jaheira stopped short. Her face fell as she locked eyes with Thalia. Jaheira stood.

Thalia braced herself to be slapped, determined to hold her ground.

Jaheira's face was blank and closed off. "The Fist said the bandits have resurfaced," she said in a stranger's voice.

"We took care of them," promised Thalia.

"How?"

"There were letters in the bandit camp that suggested they had a base of operations deep in the Cloakwoods."

"I saw no letters."

Thalia's heart skipped a beat. "Maybe you didn't look hard enough."

"Commander Scar sent us to have a looksee at what you're all up to," said Imoen in her chipper ways, as though Thalia and Jaheira weren't on the brink of throwing punches. "The Flaming Fist got a problem?"

Jaheira sighed and tore her eyes from Thalia, forcing a civil smile. "Indeed," she said. "I suppose we may go over what —  _you_." Her eyes drifted over Imoen to the open door to the street. Her face curled into a disbelieving snarl.

Thalia turned and saw the unreadable expression of Edwin, hovering in the darkened alley outside.

"Me," he said cordially.

Jaheira shoved past Thalia. On the other side of the room, Khalid leaped up and ran across the hall.

"Jaheira!" he shouted.

His voice brought a degree of calm to her and she turned from Edwin to Thalia again. "Why is  _that_ still here?" she spat.

Thalia groaned. "He… He follows me." It wasn't, strictly speaking, a lie.

"And you never thought to put a dagger in his heart?" demanded Jaheira. "For what he did to Dynaheir? To Minsc?"

"Everyday," said Thalia honestly. "I trust him no more today than I did in that clearing."

"Then you won't mind if I'll do it?" asked Jaheira with a short nod.

"J-Jaheira," said Khalid with an uneasy chuckle. He put a hand on her arm.

"She could've slit his throat in the Cloakwoods," argued Jaheira. Thalia forgot how her eyes could flash, a dangerous honeyed yellow.

"Aye, b-but this is the city," said Khalid, his eyes flickering nervously. "T-The Fist frown on murder here."

Jaheira's anger soured and she sighed. The tension eased out of her.

"I don't want to ruin the moment," said Thalia, "but I think just you and I need to talk privately."

Uncertain, Jaheira led her and Thalia away from the main hall into the empty dormitory, a long room filled with elaborate bunk beds dressed in navy and silver. Jaheira bolted the door behind them.

"Has he threatened you?" she asked in a far kinder voice.

Thalia felt her stomach harden. "Yes," she said. "But, I need to tell you something first and I need you to not interrupt me."

Jaheira nodded. Thalia sat them down on an empty bed and she told her story, or what Edwin was able to tell her. Her parentage, Elminster's meddling, her dreams of Bhaal and Sarevok and the other children, the unpredictable magic she unleashed, the prophecy Sarevok thought he was following, his murders of other Bhaalspawn, their expedition into the mines and what they learned from Daeve.

To her credit, Jaheira sat still and silent. Despite their tetchy relationship, Jaheira put a heavy hand on Thalia's arm when a few loose tears escaped. Her steadiness calmed Thalia.

"Despite all he's done," said Thalia reluctantly, "he has remained useful. In the end, he told me and he knows far more about this Bhaalspawn thing than any of us." She played with the broken patch of armor on her arm, melted and ruined by Daeve's fire elementals. "He's decent in a fight," she allowed. "While he has threatened me, I'm not afraid of him. I'm only worth something to him alive. Though, he's already sent word to his superior in Thay and they're making their way to the Sword Coast to 'pick me up'."

Jaheira scoffed. "Elminster protected you and the other Bhaalspawn once before, I am sure he would again. Even the Red Wizards wouldn't dare fight Mystra's own."

Thalia dried her tears, reassured. All she could do was nod.

"Are…" She looked down at her folded hands. "Are we alright?"

Jaheira didn't respond for a long time and when she did, it was only with a sigh. She took her hand off Thalia's arm. "It's a start," she said at last. "I'm not going to use your heritage as an excuse, but I… I can appreciate the trust you put in me. I will attempt to do the same." She chuckled, a dark hollow noise. "Khalid wanted to go back for you." she said.

Thalia looked up, startled.

"He thought I was too hard on you," she said, "that you were only a child, and we've all made mistakes in our early days that haunt us still."

"I'll take exception to being called a child," said Thalia, bristling.

Jaheira smiled wryly. "I told him you would say that." She stood, wiping her hands on her breeches. "Come along, then," she said, reaching a hand to pull Thalia to her feet. "Best not let Imoen run amok in the Harper's Hall for too long."

Back in the main hall, Khalid had set Imoen and Viconia down with a flagon of wine. Imoen was telling her story about the enslaved kobolds in the Cloakwood mine.

"And  _then_ , when we finally got them to the surface—" She caught sight of Thalia and stopped waving her cup around. Imoen looked between them, unsure. "Is everything…?"

Thalia nodded with a smile.

Imoen sighed deeply. "That's a relief. Why don't you both take a seat and have some wine—"

Jaheira took the wine and firmly moved it out of the way. Her face darkened and she became all business. "The Flaming Fist contracted us to investigate one of the noble families," she said. "House Ballard."

Thalia thought back to her studies. Ballard. Gores. Silvershield. Jannes. The oldest families of Baldur's Gate formed an aristocracy, voting among themselves the Council of Four, dukes who ruled the entire Sword Coast. Most families rarely left the city, patronizing the arts and magics.  _Anchev_.

"What's wrong with them?" asked Thalia, accepting a cup of wine from Imoen.

"They seem to b-be sabatoging their own b-business," said Khalid. "They've sold off their most valuable assets for coppers and abandoned their own loyal customers."

"Scar has been overly concerned with Trenton, the family's patriarch," continued Jaheira. "They were old friends growing up and Scar believes Trenton might be threatened by a competitor or under other pressures."

Thalia looked down into her wine and frowned, tight-lipped. "What does House Ballard control?"

"The river runners and trade through the Chointhar, largely, but not anymore," said Jaheira with a shrug. "They handed their long-standing deals with companies to the other noble houses — primary Anchev. I've spoken to their patriarchs already and, while I have met kinder nobles, the brothers merely see themselves being good businessmen and taking advantage of a bad situation."

"Was Rieltar one of the patriarchs?" asked Viconia.

Jaheira frowned. "Possibly, I'm not sure."

Thalia sighed heavily and sat back. "Sarevok is Rieltar's son."

"Oh," said Jaheira, surprised. "That will make things more complicated."

"Rieltar might not know anything," said Viconia fairly. "Sarevok could be orchestrating it behind his father's back."

Thalia thought back to her dreams of Sarevok. "There's no love lost between them," she said. "They were trying to keep the mirrorkin hidden from Rieltar."

"Would the mirrorkin leave if the man who hired them died?" asked Imoen.

Khalid sucked at his teeth. "T-They would, b-but we don't even know if there are any mirrorkin involved."

"We know," said Thalia shortly. "If we could kill Rieltar and Sarevok, then whatever remains of their loyalists and mirrorkin would scatter. We have Daeve's paperwork from the mines, detailing their operations — that should be enough proof for the Fist."

"For an arrest," said Jaheira in a hard voice. "Not an execution."

Thalia returned her piercing look. "If you want my help or the letters to incriminate the Anchevs, then Sarevok's death is my price."

"You don't even know if he was the one who killed—"

"I do," snapped Thalia. "And I would much appreciate a little bit of that trust you offered me."

Jaheira groaned. "And what, pray tell, do you plan to do after murdering him?"

"Flee," said Thalia simply. Her eyes flicked towards Edwin. "I will have to regardless. If I don't have my revenge, all of this will have meant nothing."

"Nothing?" repeated Khalid in disbelief. "You helped s-stop a war with Amn, returned iron to the Coast, d-destroyed a camp of bandits, and saved and b-bettered so many lives."

"And yet Sarevok still lives," said Thalia with a note of finality. She stood and reached into her pack, tossing a stack of letters on the table. "Let's take those to Commander Scar and see if we can't get the Anchevs arrested."

Still with more words left unsaid, Khalid and Jaheira followed Thalia reluctantly back to the headquarters of the Flaming Fist.

"He'll know you're coming now," said Viconia in a soft voice. "People such as he will have connections, escape routes."

Thalia shook her head. "He's known I'm coming for a while. He wants to face me with a sword, I hope that honour will be his undoing."

At the sight of them, Commander Scar showed the group into a private office, anxious for news. Sparing the details of the Bhaalspawn and Sarevok's involvement in her father's murder, Thalia laid out the Anchevs' plot for mercantile control over iron and plunging Amn into a war with the Sword Coast. She handed over all the paperwork she still had and Imoen's Bags of Holding full of clanging iron.

Bewildered, Scar poured himself a measure of amber liquid and tossed it back. He pulled the letters towards him again, mouthing many of the more incriminating lines.

"Gods," he said at last with a pained look, "Rieltar and his older brothers were always such nice lads. Troublesome boys, as noble brats often are, but… but  _this_?"

Thalia drummed her fingers on the desk. "I believe the brothers know nothing of it. This is a plan between Rieltar and his son."

"Even so, such promise gone to waste." Scar shook his head.

"Yes," Thalia said with as much empathy as she could spare, "it's all quite sad, but the sooner the Anchevs are in custody, the sooner we can all set things right."

Jaheira grumbled behind her and it was all Thalia could do to not strangle her.

Missing her impatience, Scar sighed. "If only it were that simple."

"Commander?" Her heart dropped.

"The Anchev patriarchs left a week ago and took a number of advisors with them to investigate the iron crisis. Something about new research."

"Where are they?" she demanded, but as soon as she heard the answer, she wished she hadn't.

"Candlekeep."


	20. Chapter 19: No Place Like It

It was perfect, really. Force Gorion's hand, make him leave the neigh impenetrable fortress and meet them in open combat to make it easier to dispatch him, then use the same castle as a shield against vengeance.

It was such a perfect plan Thalia might even congratulate Sarevok before she killed him.

"Are we actually going to meet one of the dukes?" asked Imoen for the tenth time.

"Yes, Duke Eltan Ballard," said Jaheira patiently. "He finances the Flaming Fist and Scar believes he may be able to give us entry."

Once he had a hold of himself, Scar had led them all to the spires of the Blue Keep, the duchal palace. Thalia saw little of the gardens or shimmering white stone bricks, or the interior with its lavish trinkets on the walls and pedestals. Tears of rage and frustration burned behind her eyes and it had taken all her mind to calm herself. Still, Scar had left them in a waiting parlor for nearly an hour now as he negotiated with Duke Eltan.

A tome of immense value. The phrase echoed by so many guards of her childhood rang in her head. How often had she tried to think of some such volume? How often had she thrown coins at the gods for a way back to safety? And now here it was, about to be handed to her. And she was going to repay the monks for their hospitality by painting the libraries red.

"Don't look so grim, Lia," said Imoen cheerfully. "We can tell Puffguts all about our adventures."

Winthrop. A pang of guilt hit her stomach as she thought of how he might react when she fled the castle.

The door clicked open. Thalia leapt to her feet, just in time to see Scar return with a look of grim determination, closely followed by…

"Harpers," said Scar, "may I introduce Duke Eltan Ballard, Grandmaster of the Flaming Fists, Duke of Baldur's Gate, and Defender of the Coast."

Eltan had the look of a handsome man taken to age. As years wore into him, hair greyed and skin wrinkled, but his eyes had a touch of sincerity and his smile kindness.

As introductions and bows were exchanged, Thalia saw a wave of motion behind Eltan. Fearing the worst, her hand moved to her blade, but it was only a small child. With the same clear blue eyes and handsome features, she could only be his daughter.

"Violet Ballard," said Eltan apologetically, putting a hand on the girl's shoulder.

"Your grace," said Thalia, bowing. "An honour to meet you."

Violet's eyes flicked between her father and Thalia, her mouth warbling, before she finally broke down and let out a high-pitched shriek of laughter.

Eltan, suppressing a chuckle himself, put a hand on the girl's shoulder and shooed her towards another door that led deeper into the palace.

Ears reddening, Thalia slid back into the group. An elbow hit her in the ribs and a familiar sly voice whispered in her ear.

"Our manners are unappreciated here, Your Highness," muttered Imoen.

"Shut up."

Scar handed Jaheira a scroll detailing their authority under Eltan to arrest certain members of House Anchev and a thick leather bound tome with shining gold etching on the cover. A delicate tree with flowing script.  _The Lines of Noble Bloode: Lineages and Marriages of Great Houses Silvershield and Ballard._

"It goes back to the Dale Reckoning," said Eltan, "and has been in my family nearly as long, but I figure we have another copy. The only worth this one has over the one in my office is that it may bring some criminals to justice. I'm sure that may count as a 'tome of great value'?"

"Yes, sir," said Jaheira. "We will return with House Anchev in irons before the tenday is out."

Eltan nodded. "And Commander, you work a plan on getting that stolen iron back into the right hands." He turned back to the group with a serious look. "Write a letter when the Anchevs are in custody and I will send transport for them. Needless to say, there will be a reward on offer for this. Mark my words, ladies and gentlemen, when all is said and done, all will get exactly what they deserve."

**)*(**

The western road back to Candlekeep seemed to grow longer the more they walked it. Despite Jaheira's assertions to save their strength in case they ran afoul of something during travel, Thalia all but ran down the path. The weight of her armor grew heavier with every passing hour, her heart weighed down by thoughts of what awaited them at the end of the road.

Coming this direction, the path was anything but familiar. Still, when she saw the burnt patch of earth and scattered remains of Gorion's last battle, her stomach turned violently and she slowed to a walk in an attempt to regain control over herself.

It was past nightfall by the time the vast ivory library loomed out of the darkness. As Jaheira and Khalid spoke with the guardsmen about letting them in, Thaila stood transfixed by the sight of the towers. It seemed so small and fragile, a toy castle cowering on the cliffside.

"Hull!" cried Imoen.

"Huh," said the young guardsman, "never did figure you would make it out with the Harpers after all."

Imoen puffed her chest out and threw her chin in the air. "Me and Thalia are on official Harper business, sent by Duke Alton—"

"Eltan," muttered Thalia.

"—Duke  _Eltan_  Ballard himself."

"Ye don't say?"

Hull turned the tome over in his hands, moving his lips as he read the cover title by torch light. The light danced over his familiar features, the untidy blonde hair and freckles that made him look so much younger than his years. Hull handed the book off to another guard and told him to talk with one of the priests.

"For you two, I'll kick one of them old codgers up and out of bed," he said with a grin.

"Would it be possible to have an audience with the Keeper of Tomes?" called Jaheira.

"What about, ma'am?" asked Hull.

Jaheira produced the arrest warrant from her pack. "Like Imoen said, the Harpers are on official business, acting on authority of the Flaming Fists of the Sword Coast and the duke, Eltan Ballard."

Reading the warrant with a raised eyebrow, Hull nodded solemnly. "I'll have a talk with the Keeper at dawn, ma'am. Get some rest. We won't let them go anywhere tonight."

Minutes later with a screeching sound sure to wake the rest of the priests, the gates of Candlekeep rose and they were led into the citadel. An odd feeling rushed over her as she entered the fortress agian and the gates sealed behind her. A lump rose in her throat and it was all Thalia could do to follow the rest of them as they made their way to Winthrop's inn.

"Just think," said Imoen, grabbing hold of Thalia's arm, "we can crowd around Winthrop and he'll be so excited for us, for all the stories we can tell him, and he'll bring up that cider from the basement, and…"

Thalia didn't have the heart to tell her that that was not the welcome they were about to receive.

It was still early by the inn's time and many of the visitors still sat by the fireplace or at the bar with a drink in their hands, amicably chatting about the day's learning and excitement. Thalia tried to shrink back into the door, as Jaheira made the night's arrangements with Winthrop and asked about the Anchev family. The nobility, of course, were staying in the priest's quarters.

"WHERE THE BLAZES HAVE YOU BEEN?"

Every guest turned to see what had set off the innkeep. Thalia tried to shrink back further into the wall. Imoen gripped Thalia's arm tighter as Winthrop hit the ceiling. His face turned from white to red as he gaped, open-mouthed, at the young women who had just sauntered back into his inn as though nothing had happened.

"I wake up one morn and yer bed's empty, yer bow's gone, and all yer secret lil hiding places are scrubbed clean! Both of youse could've been killed! I told Gorion, I told him again, whatever Harper business he had to go attending to, it was none of the girls' business, but did he listen—"

Imoen tugged on Thalia's glove, a small request for help.

"Gorion is dead," said Thalia blandly.

It had the effect she was looking for, but her heart broke as she saw what her words had done. Winthrop stopped mid-word, but his bushy eyebrows fell into his face. He grappled for a hold on his bar and he swallowed hard.

"Are ye sure?" he said.

Thalia nodded, unable to meet his eyes. "He died a half-day's walk from the doorstep of Candlekeep, over two months ago."

Winthrop pulled himself a drink waved away Jaheira's coin. "Never you mind that, missy," he said in a flat voice, handing over a number of keys to the rooms upstairs. As he handed Thalia one, his eyes lit with hope. "How long do ye girls plan on staying?"

"I don't know," said Thalia honestly. "But not long."

"Well," he chuckled, "I expect to see both of youse for breakfast, at least."

Thalia smiled back. "Breakfast, at least."

"You girls can have your old attic room back, if you want," he said. "Kept it clean and ready, in case either of you ever showed."

Thalia nodded and bid the others goodnight as she climbed the steps to the old attic loft she had once shared with Imoen. Standing in the corner, overlooking the untouched room, a hollow feeling all but overwhelmed her. Everything was the same, but different. Downstairs, Imoen chattered along with Winthrop, the other guests murmuring a distant background rumble. Nothing had changed, nothing but her. She didn't belong here anymore. Thalia stripped off her armor and slid into the cold bed. It fit to her shape, but was no longer hers.

Whether it was the taint of her blood or simply her life on the road, Thalia doubted she could ever live a peaceful life again.

**)*(**

Though dawn had not yet broken, Thalia found herself borrowing one of the guards' spare practice swords and breaking a few more notches into it. Panting, she belted the sword, and crossed the grounds to a bench outside the inn. As her heart rate returned to normal, she admired the familiar gardens.

"I thought we had come to an agreement that if you had more dreams, you would communicate them to me."

Thalia didn't bother to look up as he took a seat next to her.

"Well," she said in a forced-calm voice, "somewhere out there, a Bhaalspawn is working as an assassin for a prince and enjoying their work quite a lot."

Edwin considered it. "Many of the Bhaalspawn Thay found worked in such fields." She felt his eyes on her. "Are you looking forward to killing him?" he asked casually.

Refusing to show weakness in front of him, Thalia stood. "Yes," she said through gritted teeth. What she didn't mention was how unsure she was how much of that feeling was her and how much was Bhaal.

"Hey, whatcha doing with that sword?"

Confused, Thalia turned to see Hull striding across the grounds, his smile chiding but friendly, as though he had caught her with a hand in the cookie jar.

She unsheathed the blunted practice sword and showed him. "I'm… practicing, in the morning," she said uncertainly. "I always used to."

Hull nodded, a brief flash of panic in his eyes before he righted himself. "Ah, of course. Ha ha, dolt." He hit himself on the forehead for being so stupid. "Well, anyhow, enjoy your day."

Belting the sword again, Thalia had an uneasy feeling. "Hull," she called. She forced a laugh, as though the memory was hilarious. "I was just telling my friend here about that last night we all played dice together before Imoen and I left Candlekeep. Didn't she dump a basket of nuts over your head when you wouldn't shut your mouth about winning?"

Hull swelled with pride. "That's right, sir," he said. "No one beats Hull dicing, especially little pink twerps like Im." Hull continued on his way, whistling as he patrolled the grounds.

"Hull never won that game, did he?" asked Edwin, catching on.

"Hull doesn't know how to play dice," said Thalia, already pulling him back inside the inn. "That game was chaltar. I don't understand it, though," she said, taking the stairs two at a time. "Why would they bring them here? We're missing something."

"Likely a trap," said Edwin with a sigh.

Thalia hammered on Jaheira and Khalid's door. "We need to get moving, kill them, and get out, then,  _before_  the trap springs. Go wake Viconia."

Edwin raised an eyebrow, his nose wrinkling at the order.

"Tell her about Hull," whispered Thalia angrily, in case any other mirrorkin were listening, "and then make sure she's ready for a fight. Quickly."

Still giving her that skeptical look, Edwin did as she told him. It took them the better part of the hour to get dressed and armored, and to fill in the others about her suspicions about Hull. Imoen was devastated, but still went downstairs to ask Winthrop if he knew where the Anchevs had gone. The answer she gave wasn't the one Thalia was hoping for. They were already in the library.

There would be witnesses and, if they had mirrorkin among the guards, it was looking more likely that she wouldn't be able to kill Sarevok here and still escape Candlekeep. An accident during transport, then. The thought of killing him in cold blood didn't upset her as much as she wished it would.

A stench of old parchment and the muffled sound of chatter upstairs greeted them as they pushed the heavy brass doors of the great library. It was still early for most of the visitors. A scattering of monks filled the tables, ancient tomes and notes before them. Thalia's boots clinked against the heavy stonework, echoing behind her as she scanned the rows of endless bookcases. Not a soul. They had to be upstairs.

She grabbed the polished railing to run up the stairs and nearly knocked over a monk.

"Sorry, sir, I—"

It wasn't a monk.

The man smiled at her pleasantly. Taller than her and as broad as Minsc had been, the blue robes he wore suited him as ill as the nobles clothes before.

"That's alright, Thalia," he said, straightening his robes. "I was just about to join my family."

Thalia felt her blood boil in her ears as the coloured drained from her face.

"Who's this?" asked Jaheira.

She couldn't answer. She could only stare, held spellbound by Sarevok. She should've moved, drawn her sword and run him through. He clearly wasn't hiding any spiked armor under that robe, or likely any weapons on his person.

"An old friend," said Sarevok, not taking his hard, cold eyes from Thalia.

Jaheira understood immediately. "Sarevok Anchev, by the—"

Thalia felt she understood Sarevok quite well, but she never expected him to run. Yet he did. Once Jaheira named him, he bolted back up the stairs and down the hall, disappearing behind a study room door.

The sudden movement broke the spell and Thalia and the rest gave chase. But on the third floor with a bolted window, he didn't have a chance of escape. This was it. She drew her blade, her mouth dry with anticipation.

With a solid shove, Khalid broke in the door. A dozen heads turned to face them. Middle-aged men gaped at the rudeness of the sudden entry. They had crowded around a few tables, book spilled open to useful pages. Calm and casual, Sarevok rummaged in a drawer by the window, but Thalia couldn't take her eyes off the guardsmen who stood around, their eyes cold and unblinking. She was sure she had never seen them before.

"Stop, right there!" shouted Khalid, but Sarevok paid him no heed. "In the name of Duke Eltan, you are under arrest!"

A scrawny tall man with a black beard that did little to disguise his weak face stood, outrage in every feature. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. "We were told we would not be—"

In a single smooth motion, Sarevok unsheathed a blade and drove it through the man's back. His face turned grey with shock as dark red blood flooded down his robes. The corner of Sarevok's mouth twitched as he gave the blade one final jerk before removing it from the man and letting the body drop.

The other members of his house stared, frozen in their horror.

"Oh, Sarevok."

"What have you done?"

" _Rieltar_!"

The mirrorkin guardsmen sprung into action, but not against Thalia and the group. Against House Anchev. The bloody slaughter took only moments, swords cleaving straight through flesh and bone. Body parts scattered like puzzle pieces, blood soaking into the wooden table. When the guards finally belted their weapons. every member of the House lay dead. Except for Sarevok.

Sarevok stepped over the still-bleeding corpse of his father that he had made, a cunning light in his eye. "Actually," he said, "I believe you will find  _you_  are under arrest."

Before her eyes, one of the guardsmen shifted with an impossible subtleness, the light bending around his form. When it settled, Thalia was looking into the familiar withered face of Ulrant, the Keeper of Tomes and Grandmaster of Candlekeep.


	21. Chapter 20: The Twin-Strangers

Thalia had never seen the inside of Candlekeep's prison cells and had never expected to before. Regardless, here she sat. Divided amongst three cells, the guards had separated Viconia from the rest, fearing her drowish heritage as they unmasked her. Jaheira and Khalid sat locked across the hall in their own cell. When they had first been brought down, their heads had knocked together, bowed low as they surely spoke of escape plans. Now, though, they had drifted apart, their faces long and pale.

Once Sarevok had told his story to the other guardsmen, his robes bloodstained and eyes wide with terror and tears, it was impossible to know who was the mirrorkin and who the genuine man. "Ulrant" had been in his office and heard the whole thing. "Hull" had confiscated their weapons, using the bloodied ones as proof of their deeds. But all the rest were horrified by Thalia and Imoen and the new company they had brought with them.

"Ulrant" had come down, flanked by two other keepers, to chastise them about breaking the centuries old peace, to accuse Thalia and Imoen of associating with foreign spies and working on behalf of Amn. She had known them all her life, but as the other keepers pleaded for understanding, she hardened her heart,

"So does Sarevok still think he can start a war with the south?" Thalia had asked sweetly, but the keepers couldn't give any answer. They left with their heads hung low, tears in their eyes.

Thalia didn't even want to know how Winthrop was dealing with it.

Imoen sniffled in the corner again, her knees pulled to her chest. Thalia's heart panged at the noise. All she could do was pace, and hope a plan came to her. Perhaps Elminster would visit, she thought wildly. He knew his Harpers and would vouch for them. Or Duke Eltan could come to their rescue. They had told him and Scar about the mirrorkin and when Sarevok strolled into Baldur's Gate, the sole survivor of an attack to wipe out his house, they would know they had been framed.

On the other hand, perhaps they wouldn't, and they would rot here or be sent away to Baldur's Gate for execution. Blood hadn't been spilt in Candlekeep for hundreds of years, they couldn't sully it with executions here. It would be too suspicious. Or would they?

Thalia paced the length of the cell room again and again. How long had they been here? One hour? Three? Six? She felt his unwavering eyes on her and with every time she passed them, her frustration only mounted.

"Must you stare at me like that?" she demanded.

"I'm waiting," said Edwin, his lips curling into a sneer. "Sorcerers are known for explosive bursts of magic during extreme emotions or times of stress, and I would rather not waste one of my spells."

She stopped and stared at him, her eyes narrowed. "They took your components," said Thalia.

"When a Red Wizard is arrested in Thay," said Edwin with a pretentious smile, "their tattoos are branded over and destroyed. There is a reason for this."

Imoen looked up from her knees, her eyes bloodshot. "Why didn't you say something before?" she wailed.

"I was waiting for this Bhaalspawn to get a grip on her magic and get us away from this miserable coast," snapped Edwin. "But, apparently, one cannot depend on Western savages for anything."

Ignoring the insults, Thalia searched herself desperately, reaching for some heat. A spark of something. She clawed at the source of power she knew was in her, the divine spark of Bhaal. It was evil in nature.  _Surely_ it could break down a prison door. But nothing answered her cry. No blast of power, no jolt of pain. Her soul stayed silent.

Their argument caught the attention of Jaheira and Khalid. Thalia nodded to them, and they both stood, looking distinctly less hopeless.

"Get us out," she said.

"Again with the orders," muttered Edwin.

He placed a finger on the lock of their cell door and gave a command. A bracelet-like tattoo of flames glowed briefly before vanishing entirely, leaving a faint white scar behind. The iron bars turned red, then white, the lock dripping down in a silvery pool of molten metal. Putrid smoke drifted upwards. With a tap of his finger, the smoking door swung open.

Thalia listened hard for any noise from upstairs. Heart pounding, she crept down the hall. Exactly where it was before. The chest they had passed while being dragged down here. She threw open the lid and thanked whatever god was looking after them. Their weapons and magical supplies were untouched.

Thalia distributed the gear among them, while Edwin broke out the Harpers and Viconia using his prepared spells and components.

Thalia belted on her sword, a wave of inane security washing over her. What were they going to do now? Butcher the entire guard barracks and run into the woods? While she wouldn't mind driving her blade through the mirrorkin who wore Hull's face, there was no way of knowing which were the true guardsmen. Not anymore.

"Is there somewhere very nearby?" asked Edwin as they kitted up. "A crypt or undercroft in the library? Tunnels? A fishing cove?"

"There's a set of catacombs," offered Imoen, clutching her spellbook to her chest. "Me and Lia used to get lost in them."

Edwin turned to Thalia, flipping through his own spellbook. "Tell me of them, everything you know," he said shortly.

"They were constructed in case of attack from the seas," said Thalia, only more confused. "I think they exit somewhere in the Cloakwoods, but since the peace with Kara-Tur, they've been abandoned. What does this matter?"

"What are they built of?" he asked. "How tall is the ceiling? Tell me what they look like, in precise detail. Your life and the life of this pink one depend on it."

Affronted, Thalia answered the questions as best she could. "You must have some… some mass invisibility spell?"

Edwin snorted. "To cover six, including myself?"

"Are you telling me you aren't a powerful enough wizard?" asked Thalia innocently enough.

Edwin flushed a blotchy red and tore a page from his spellbook. Thalia recognised it at once and her scorn left her.

"Can that take all of us?" she asked.

"It is called  _Dimensional Door_ ," said Edwin with a triumphant smirk. Even so, it would hardly matter. They had stolen at least a dozen such scrolls from Daeve's office in the Cloakwood mines.

He read the scroll in the dark, honeyed language of magic and the parchment immediately erupted in white flames. For a moment, nothing happened.

Imoen gasped.

With a scream of metal on metal, the door opened. Razor thin, the edge warbled like the air above a fire, growing until it was large enough for a grown man to step through. The inside was silver and thick with fog. It was impossible to know if the old catacombs were on the other side.

"Come on, then, before it shuts," snapped Edwin.

He took the first step through, vanishing without a trace. Imoen, Khalid, and Jaheira all followed closely.

Viconia gave Thalia a wan smile. "I'd rather not trust his magics either," she said.

Her heart pounded painfully in her chest. She looked back to the silent door behind them. Not a soul had noticed their escape. No one came rushing downstairs to investigate. No alarm sounded. Perhaps they could just, walk out, leave peacefully.

"But Imoen went through," said Thalia, more to herself than Viconia, and she stepped through the shimmering portal, Viconia right behind her.

It was as though a candle had been blown out. One moment she stood in the prison, the next, in the drafty catacombs that ran under the fortress. Cobwebs and dust lined every alcove and balls of pulsing magelight cast stark, moving shadows. The ceilings were barely tall enough for Edwin and Thalia to stand without their heads brushing the ceiling. The portal trembled before snapping shut, as though it were never there.

But they had all made it.

"This way," whispered Imoen as she poked her head around the nearest corner.

Imoen had mapped the catacombs many years before, when they were still maintained by the guards, and an important asset in case of Kara-Turan attack. The guards didn't take too kindly to them playing in them then, either, but it had never stopped her. The tunnels criss-crossed under Candlekeep, entrances popping up in the basement of nearly every building in the castle. Somewhere above their heads floors creaked and the monks of Candlekeep went about their business. Silently, they followed Imoen through the maze.

As she turned the next corner, Imoen shrieked, stumbling back into Khalid.

Thalia drew her weapon, the ring of steel echoing in the dank hallway. Her muscles tensed for attack. But it was Dreppin. Older, paunchy, watery eyed Dreppin.

He smiled, the gaps in his teeth inky black. "Hello, girls," he said.

Thalia realised it a moment before he striked. "Imoen,  _move_ ," she shouted.

Imoen hurried behind Khalid and the creature looking through Dreppin's face drew a dagger, clashing against Khalid's crossed swords. His muscles trembled with the effort of holding back the creature's immense strength. Dreppin's face twisted in rage. Barely able to walk two abreast, the tunnels were too narrow and awkward to fight in. Still, Thalia managed to draw her sword against the creature's stomach. Blood splattered the walls. At the flash of pain, the creature hissed like a wild snake and the illusion shimmered, the edges becoming fuzzy. Khalid finished him in a moment.

"I'm sure he won't be the only one," said Thalia, her mouth dry.

Even in death, the creature maintained Dreppin's form. It was eerie, disturbing in the worst possible way.

Imoen proceeded more carefully down the tunnels. Weapons at the ready, Khalid and Thalia stayed close behind. Unfortunately, she had been right. They ran into a half-dozen more mirrorkin, each wearing familiar faces and spitting curses. Master Tarbek, Phyllia the washer, Jessop the blacksmith, Brant the guard. Blood soaked and nursing minor wounds, the promise of fresh air and a place to rest spurred Thalia on.

Every time one of them fell, their corpses horridly familiar, a question bothered her, but she couldn't make herself ask it.

"What do mirrorkin do to the people they turn into?" asked Imoen in a small voice.

A grave silence met the question.

Jaheira sighed. "As for your Hull and Ulrant," she said, "I would suspect they are dead, so as to not ruin their appearance in Candlekeep. It's not essential to the impersonation, though. Dreppin and the others are probably upstairs."

Even if it was only Hull, Thalia felt a pang of guilty anger. Sarevok was playing a game with her and others' lives. He would pay for this, too. And soon.

The floor sloped upward, the ceiling growing taller, the walls flaring out into a wider room. They had to be nearly out.

"Child, please, stop this madness."

Her blood froze. All her anger and thoughts of vengeance evaporated in an instant at the desperate plea. Thalia pushed past Imoen in a daze, her mouth hanging open. Khalid tried to pull her back, but Thalia still saw.

It was Gorion. The Gorion of her memories. Tall and broadly built, like herself, soulful grey eyes and greying hair. His favourite green robes, spell component bags on his belt that he used to juggle for their entertainment. His face twisted with sorrow.

"I don't… you're not real," she stammered.

Another form stepped from behind him. A long white beard, floppy hat, blue robes. Elminster. "Dost thou think I would let any duplicate this visage without my express permission?" he asked, humour in his eyes. "Come along, poor soul, let us leave these dark tunnels behind."

"They're mirrorkin," said Jaheira warningly, casting a sad look to Gorion's shade. "Gorion died, you saw it yourself."

Thalia wished she hadn't. It would have been so much easier to believe. Her heart panged in her ears, aching more than any bruise or stiff muscle. It paralyzed her.

Gorion shook his head, his voice frantic and dire. "My dear, I didn't die that night, nor have I yet. The blade that you thought slew me was covered with a poison that gave all appearances of death, yet preserved my mind and soul. Sarevok captured me and thought to interrogate me about the Bhaalspawn. Please, child," he begged again, turning his eyes on Thalia. "I have loved you too much to lose you now."

"These tunnels are  _full_  of mirrorkin," spat Thalia. "You expect me to believe you two aren't just more?" She tried to sound scathing, but lost all bravado when Gorion just looked at her more desperately.

"I know I have hid secrets from you before, but the time for lies has passed now. Bhaal's taint haunts your mind, my dear," said Gorion seriously. He reached out a hand and Thalia flinched, uncertain. "While I know Dreppin was not the nicest of men, he lays tangled in his own entrails, as you saw him for a monster. Gods have no mercy on mortals anymore."

"But… but that wasn't Dreppin," said Imoen, but she sounded unsure.

"By Mystra, we must move quickly," urged Elminster. "Listen close, Thalia. With the help of a powerful mentor, Sarevok managed to encase thee in a vast world of illusions using his own godsblood, while you slumber in his prisons. I was unsure if I could even penetrate it to reach thee."

Thalia scoffed but her mouth dried out. "When could he have done that?" she asked, but she knew the answer before Elminster could provide it.

"The battlefield where he poisoned Gorion all those weeks ago." said Elminster.

"Enough of this nonsense," said Viconia, unsheathing a dagger. "Don't let yourself get tricked by a pair of mirrorkin."

"Be quiet," said Thalia, unable to tear her eyes off Gorion. Could it be true? Thalia hardly knew the limits of magic, let alone illusions and how they could be augmented by godsblood.

"Who are you talking to?" asked Gorion, his eyes looking over her shoulder and down the dark tunnel behind.

A dark chill ran down her spine. "Viconia," she said. "A friend of mine."

Gorion and Elminster exchanged a look.

"Viconia is a drowish name."

"The illusion contains a mimicry of this world, she might have created companions and—"

Viconia threw the dagger. It buried itself to the hilt in Gorion's shoulder.

"No!" screamed Thalia, her voice rebounding off the wall.

Then he hissed. The edges shimmered.

Thalia felt her knees buckle and she slid against the wall as they gave out under her. He had always been lost.

Viconia moved forward, spell in hand, joined shortly by Khalid and Jaheira. The hissing shrieks of the mirrorkin mingled with grunts of pain and distress in the voices of Elminster and Gorion. She buried her face in her hands, but still heard the haunting sounds long after they faded away.

"Are you alright?" Imoen.

"He was decapitated," said Thalia to herself. A wetness burned behind her eyes. She pushed it back and looked up, smiling in vain. "I should've known. 'A poison that gave all appearance of death.'"

"It was a decent lie," said Jaheira. She offered a hand and pulled Thalia to her feet. "Had I been in your position, I would have wanted to believe it."

They continued in a stiff silence down the corridor until they met a ladder, leading up into a trapdoor. After a few good shoves, it sprung open with a creak. Fresh cold air flooded the tunnels and they clamored out into the Cloakwood forest. Though the thick greenery blocked out much of the sky, what she could see was an inky dark blue and filled with stars.

Navigating in that unknowable, druid way Jaheira did, the rest were able to follow her to forest's edge in less than an hour. The western road came into view, the road between the Friendly Arm Inn and Candlekeep. They had made it.

"Sarevok probably took over the Gate while we were gone," said Thalia as they set up camp under cover of the trees. "We're still going to be wanted murderers."

Jaheira sighed. She blew on the smoking fire and fed it a few pieces of kindling. "I know," she said. "The best we can hope for is backup at the Harper's Hall."

"And as for  _getting_  to the Hall?" asked Thalia. "The Fist are sure to be on a lookout for us."

Jaheira smiled grimly. "The Harpers have not always worked, strictly speaking, on the side of the law of the land. There are more ways into a city than in the front door."

The bulk of their camping supplies had been left behind at the inn in Candlekeep, so, with Jaheira's ominous words ringing in her ears, Thalia stripped off her amor and tried to get comfortable on the hard ground. Soon enough, Imoen lay behind her, back to back. Viconia took first watch, handling her short sword as she faced the road from Candlekeep with a keen eye. One by one, Thalia heard the rest of them drop off, their easy breathing punctuated by snores.

"Do you think Winthrop's alright?" whispered Imoen, her voice thin and drawn.

"Winthrop's fine," sadid Thalia without a second thought. "When all this is done, we'll go back to Candlekeep and set things straight."

"Everyone thinks we're murderers, though," said Imoen. "Like you said, what about Baldur's Gate? What about if we can't stop Sarevok and clear our names? Are we gonna end up in prison all our lives?"

"I'm sure no one in Amn thinks we're murderers," said Thalia, assuring herself as much as Imoen. "There'll always be somewhere else to go. We'll be fine."

Minutes later, Imoen dropped off to sleep, her breathing slowing and deepening.

Thalia struggled again to get comfortable. "We'll be fine," she said again, as she shut her eyes and waited for sleep to take her.

**)*(**

Thalia ran, breathless, but without exertion. Her feet skipped over the earth as though in a daze, or a dream. Fear clung to her heart. Fear of what was chasing her. Of what would happen when they caught up. The forest whipped by her, clawing at her hair and clothes with possessive hands, slowing her down.

She chanced a moment and looked back. Their fires and pitchforks shone as stars in the darkness, their faces twisted in an infernal rage as they screamed, called for her. Faster. She was the murderer, the monster, the kobold scorned like a rodent, the ogre that children fear comes in the night. The mob gained on her.

The forest was alive with noises. The slick mush of wet leaves, the scurrying of wild creatures underfoot or fleeing the chase, wind through the trees. But nothing could ever be mistaken for that voice.

The voice haunted her, hunted for her as the mob did, echoing through the woods, rustling every tree branch as it searched. Calm, patient, but barely concealing its rage. The malevolence poisoned the air and followed her like a creeping fog.

_This is your destiny, your nature. Most shall never understand the strength of what is bred in the bone and passed from father to daughter. Run as you will, you will never be free of the mob._

Thalia ran harder.

_They will hunt you for what you are. Murder runs through your heart and the power of the gods lies in the palm of your hand. Faerun will fear you and you shall slaughter them with your own hands. Accept it, and that power will be yours. A magical might unchained by the Weave of wizards, unfettered by godlings. Life bows to your will. End it._

Her heart hammered as the fog nipped at her heels, the mob's screams now distinct.

 _I shall not be ignored_.

"I'm not ignoring you," she said through gritted teeth.

Through some superhuman strength she did not realise was there, she stopped running. The mob caught up in moments, rushing over her as screaming ghosts before vanishing into the darkness.

The voice was not so easy dismissed. Thalia felt it consume the forest. Everything around her succumbed to decay and death. The bark peeled back, grey and lifeless, leaves falling as dust to be blown away in the wind. Grass faded to straw, packing into the dry, infertile earth. Fog crept along the ground, dense and white as it wove around the trees, eating the wilting flowers and creating rot and mulch.

From the rolling fog there stepped a common man. Bhaal, or at least the divine spark of his she carried unwillingly.

"I am not ignoring you," she said again, staring into his merciless pitch black eyes. "I am  _using_  you. I have summoned you to save my life, the lives of my friends, and when the Red Wizards come for me, I will use you again."

A deep anger coiled behind the black animalistic eyes. The voice split and came from every shadow, a dozen arguments at once. She would slip up, temptation would win in the end. It spoke of bloodlust and threatened her control, her arrogance, and his own inevitable triumph.

Thalia held his eye, unwavering against the tidal wave of voices that encouraged defeat.

As Bhaal weakened, drifting away, the forest returned to life. Bark grew anew, the grass flourished green, and the sun returned to the sky. Thalia breathed a sigh of relief.

It continued its threats, weaker and weaker, as the fog rolled away into the distance. One stood out from among the din of voices.

It warned of others who would listen where she had not, others who would embrace what she had rejected, others who would slay her. Sarevok, she knew, at once. All the other Bhaalspawn who had heard of the prophecy and coveted Bhaal's former throne, who set about butchering their fellows who strived to lead ordinary lives.

One way or another, one of them would be left standing.

Thalia didn't know who it would be, but she knew who it would not be.


	22. Chapter 21: A Hard Road

Despite Jaheira's instinance that they truly did not need Edwin's help in the slightest and were perfectly fine sneaking into Baldur's Gate, when Imoen stole one of his scrolls of  _Dimensional Door_ , suddenly that became the new plan. Thalia had a suspicion he had only offered his assistance because he felt sneaking was unbecoming to a wizard.

In the dark of night, they made their way along the outside wall of the city. They edged as close to the Harper's Hall as they could before Imoen cast the scroll and another shimmery portal opened. A number of guards above scrambled at the noise, but by the time they found where it had come from, the portal snapped shut behind them all.

"Is there any sane reason why a major city is not warded against magical intrusion?" asked Viconia dryly.

"H-Humans produce f-few wizards capable of it," said Khalid.

"Western barbarians don't have the mental faculties for such things," scoffed Edwin.

The Harper's Hall was as they had left it. A handful of elves occupied the long dining table and comfortable chairs, not bothering to give the group a second look once they recognised Jaheira and Khalid.

"Sure they won't turn us in?" asked Thalia, looking at the elves uneasily.

Jaheira shook her head and led them into the dormitory. "The Harpers have a loyalty that transcends local laws."

After a few cautious days of moving at night and sleeping during the day, Thalia would have thought she had gotten used to going to bed shortly before the crack of dawn. But, she hadn't. As the others settled down for a few hours rest, she returned to main hall to scavenge some decent food for herself. There was no shortage of honey bread, so she figured no one would mind too much. Technically, she was on Harper business as well.

By the time she returned to the dining table with her bounty, the last staggering elves had gone to bed but someone still remained. An awkward-looking visitor shuffled by the front door. She wore the heavy, nondescript armor of a mercenary, a chipped mace on her belt and a battered book in hand.

Seeing no mark of the Flaming Fist, Thalia called out, "Can I help you?"

Hesitating, the woman came and sat down across from her. "I am unsure if you know me, but my name is—"

"Tamoko," breathed Thalia, staring at the foreign woman. Her appetite left her to be replaced by fear.

Tamoko grimaced. Her broad features were worn with stress, but it was undoubtedly the woman Thalia knew as Sarevok's lover.

"Then, you would be Thalia, I imagine," she said with a sigh. When Thalia nodded, she continued, "I do not presume to be your friend or expect any manner of trust, but circumstances demand I place myself at your disposal. In exchange for not arresting you—"

"We didn't kill House Anchev," said Thalia immediately.

Tamoko laughed without humour. "Since I first met him, Sarevok has dreamed of slaying his father."

"Why?" Thalia stared in horror.

Tamoko waved the question aside. "He and his father had much bloody business, but that is not what I came here to speak with you about. I need you to do something and, in turn, I will provide you the tools to accomplish it."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Stop him," she said softly. "Stop his schemes, his plans, and strip him of the belief that any of you may ascend to godhood. But leave him with his life."

It was Thalia's turn to laugh. "Why would you betray him when you claim to love him?"

Tamoko flushed at the mention of their relationship. "I am loyal to the man I met years ago," she said in a tense voice. "He had no interest in following his father's schemes and instead wished for a simple, ordinary life away from the taint of his soul.  _That_  is the man I am loyal to. He deserves a chance."

Thalia sat back, refusing the urge to smack the woman. "Don't you think he's had enough chances yet?" she asked in a hard voice.

Tamoko bit back a retort and gathered her strength, remaining firm. "I need your word to it," she said, drumming her fingers on the book, "otherwise our business here will end."

Thalia lost her humour as she realised Tamoko was serious. "You were in that field," she said. "You saw what Sarevok did to my father."

"Put that aside," insisted Tamoko. "The forces Sarevok is playing with are larger than your revenge. You must know the heritage the two of you share."

Thalia considered it to humour her. Just because Sarevok believed the prophecy of the Bhaalspawn was true, didn't mean it actually was. Still, the damage he could wreck with an army of mirrorkin as a patriarch of Baldur's Gate could be immense. If he was so far gone that Tamoko, a woman who stood by him for years, was desperate enough to betray his confidence in an attempt to save his life, Thalia doubted Sarevok would let himself be saved. Regardless what she said, she would still be able to kill him.

"I give my word, I will do what I can," said Thalia haltingly. "But, if it comes down to it, I'm not going to hesitate."

Tamoko considered her answer and, deciding it was likely the best she was going to get, she said, "Commander Scar of the Flaming Fist is a mirrorkin and his next assignment is to make the death of Duke Eltan on the morn at the Flaming Fist building. Entar Silvershield has already perished. Such an accident will bring the houses together for a vote. As the sole patriarch of Anchev and now eligible for the nomination, Sarevok will be named his replacement by the mirrorkin he has planted among the nobility, and declare war with Amn."

Thalia frowned, shaking her head. "What's the point of a war with Amn? It's surely not anything we could win."

Tamoko avoided her eye. "It's not supposed to be won," she whispered. "Once, a prophet of Cyric told him that a Bhaalspawn's divine spark would grow through mass slaughter and destruction. No one knows which backwater mystic rumour, if any, have truth, but Sarevok is willing to follow them all."

She stood suddenly, her armor clanging on the table. Her face remained impassive, but a desperation clung to her eyes. "I am sure it is a hard road to walk as a Bhaalspawn," she said with something approaching compassion, "to feel the lure of bloodlust, to fight or give into the temptation of your nature. But, for those who walk alongside you, it is a hard road as well, to watch you… change."

She dropped the book as though it had bitten her. "If you feel some lingering doubt as to sparing his life," she spat, "I suggest you read that."

Thalia thumbed through the book with the worn leather cover. Each page was covered in tight handwriting. "What's this?" she asked.

But Tamoko did not answer, her lip trembling. And without another word, she turned from the table and left the Harper's Hall with her head held high.

**)*(**

Morning came to find Thalia still at the table with a pained expression on her face as she continued to read through Sarevok's journal. Entries dated back a number of years, the tone darkening as his handwriting grew messier and more cramped. A small part of her knew this was proof. It detailed all the finer points of House Anchev's plots over the iron of the Sword Coast, but a far larger part of her read on in horror.

11th of June: Another violent dream. I was a boy again, and a large black dog stared at me with unblinking black eyes. I was paralyzed with fear, holding to Mother's skirts. She comforted me best she could and reached out to pet the creature. The dog smiled and spoke with the voice of my father, though not any father I had ever known.  _Like father, like son. For what is bred in the bone will flow in the blood._ When I looked in the mirror, my eyes were dead and black. This isn't the first dream with the dog but…

21st of September: I saw Mother again in a dream. Father wrapped his hands around her throat again, but no matter how I struggled I couldn't help her. Her face turned red, then purple, and she turned to me to save her. Time and time again, I couldn't. Then, I found a dagger of bone in my hand. I drove it into Father's back, again and again, until he let go and fell, dead. Mother held me in her arms as I wept. She said she was proud of me. Are these signs? Is my blood growing stronger within me or am I a slave to it?

16th of November: I found myself in the great throne room again. Mother urged me to kill Rieltar, to take her vengeance. I told her I had practised regularly, dealing with local riff-raff and Rieltar had seen me trained as a powerful warrior. He had even found a  _Akalmara_ , a Deathbringer, to train me in the ways of the Dread Father, the Lord of Murder. She led me down a hall and showed me a marble statue of myself, perfect in every way.  _This_ , she said,  _This is your potential._

4th of January: Of course, because I was out with the boys all day and had fun, Reiltar just had to ruin it. Some miserable old scholar approached him about tutoring me. Somehow he found out we still keep the Dread Father and used it to appeal to Reiltar. I don't know what his angle is, but I must say, I haven't said ten words to this scholar and I already loathe him.

12th of February: Winski is his name, a priest of the Father who somehow escaped the purges twenty years ago. And he's an absolute lunatic. He goes on and on and  _on_  about my duty, about honing my spark to bring Bhaal back. Who the fuck ever said anything about bringing him  _back_? He's dead and can stay dead, as far as I care. I just need a bit more gold and Tamoko and I can leave.

18th of March: Winski warns me (again, might I say) to not dilute my bloodlust, to embrace the fullness of my powers, no matter how painful it is to work the magic. Rieltar's plans are mad, as ever, but one day I will find the perfect occasion to take his life. Until then, I must at least pretend like I will take the crown of Bhaal. I've begun noting the distinguishing markings from other dreams of his spawn. Winski told Reiltar and they want to arrange some assassinations.

3rd of April: I strangled a man, a servant man, in a dream. It felt like a dream, but I don't know. I saw him as a monster, as another visage of Bhaal, egging me on. When I snapped from it, my hands still wrapped around a lifeless corpse. Winski claims that Bhaal's spark is demanding to be used and fed, or something like that. I don't really understand it, but I've let Tamoko lock my bedroom door against any further incidents. Poor Gregor. He shouldn't have died like that.

26th of April: I feel perhaps Tamoko is the only one left who understands me. Even then, not as much as she thinks. All fighters feel bloodlust, but not as I do. My dreams, while I no longer keep records of them, are soaked in the blood of legions and still I hunger for more. I'm exhausted. She speaks often with fondness of Kara-Tur, a land where the people put stock in the abilities of men and not the abstract power of gods. Once I find a place to kill Rieltar without arousing suspicion, I will flee with her into the night seas.

29th of June: As much as Cythandia gets on my nerves, there is something to be said about a potential worshipper and consort. As my relations with Tamoko are not common knowledge, even now, Cythandia sees herself as the Queen and Consort to Murder, and has gone on endlessly about holidays I might preside over and respect paid to me and her. It is all very fanciful, to be sure, but the more I listen to it, the more it appeals to me.

More dreams. More failed plots to murder his father for killing his mother in a drunken rage to purge Sarevok's perceived "weaknesses". But above all, golden rays of peace. Training younger pages in the city how to fight with sword and lance, quiet bounty-hunting trips with Tamoko, a thrilling new book found at a secondhand bookstore. As time wore on, the beams of sunlight vanished behind the clouds of prophecy and rage. A life lost. Sarevok still lived, but as a husk, a shell of rage and violence. A shell of murder.

By the time she finished it, a wretched hollow feeling ate at her chest. While Sarevok claimed Tamoko didn't understand him, Thalia knew she did herself. Too well. She clutched the book, her white knuckles trembling. Was this what she had to look forward to? How long would it take before Imoen was no longer enough to ground her?

"Good morning, sourpuss," called a familiar voice. "I had the  _weirdest_  dream last night—what happened?"Imoen saddled up next to Thalia, crestfallen. "You look like you saw a ghost."

Thalia wrapped her arms tight around Imoen. She didn't trust herself to speak. A half-choked sob left her mouth.

"Hey, it's alright," said Imoen weakly, returning the hug. She knocked their heads together gently. "My dream wasn't  _that_  weird."

"I just need a minute," muttered Thalia thickly. Imoen's smell, her warmth, even so far from Candlekeep, spoke of home, of safety, and peace. Of the ray of sunlight still in her life. "It's… it's been a lot."

"Take all the minutes you want," said Imoen, stroking her back.

Thalia couldn't bring herself to cry, but felt Imoen's hot tears drip into her shoulder. Thalia hugged her closer and clung to Imoen as they grieved the disaster of their lives.

At last, Imoen pulled away, sniffing. She smiled wetly. "So, how you doing?"

Thalia made a noise halfway between a sob and a laugh. "Alright."

"You should cry sometimes, I hear it's good for you."

Thalia stroked the cover of the book again and, cringing, handed it over as though it were a wounded animal. Imoen paged through it as Thalia explained Tamoko's appearance, the deal they struck, and that the duke was in danger.

Imoen wiped her tears and finished sniffling. With a single swallow, she pulled herself together and leapt to her feet. "I'll get the rest of them, then," she said. "Gotta go save the duke."

Thalia raised an eyebrow. "You aren't worried about this? About me and—"

"No, I'm not," she said simply. "Listen, Lia, I know you're scared about this. But, like you said, things'll work out just fine. But, we do still need to stop Sarevok from becoming a duke and starting huge devastating wars."

Only marginally reassured, Thalia followed her into the dormitory. Without too much drama, they managed to wake up the others and get them fitted for a fight.

"Commander Scar's a mirrorkin?" said Jaheira again as they left the Harper's Hall.

Golden morning sunlight streamed across the stones. Thalia kept an eye on the patrolling guards they passed by, but none seemed to know they were wanted for murder. A small mercy, as both Edwin and Viconia were memorable, and they were approaching the Flaming Fist headquarters.

"And going to assassinate Duke Eltan, yes," repeated Thalia.

The common guards within seemed quite undisturbed by their appearance. Enough recognised them that, with enough confidence, they strode past them and ran upstairs to look for Scar. His office was a disaster. Papers strewn across the floor, a crystal tumbler smashed to oblivion, sticky amber liquid and a small patch of blood drying into the stone.

"A struggle?" asked Khalid, putting his fingers to the dry bloodstain. "Are we t-too late?"

"Mirrorkin aren't known to be neat," said Jaheira, inspecting the scattered documents. "When murder and impersonations cleans things up so easily."

"What are you doing here?"

Thalia jumped at the voice. Duke Eltan, dressed in fine trimmed velvet and a puzzled expression.

"Your grace," said Jaheira, casting an eye behind him, "there isn't much time to explain, but we fear Commander Scar has been assassinated and replaced."

Duke Eltan glanced between them all, taking a calculated step back. "That is quite something," he said cagily. "Scar just told me the same about all of you."

"Where is he?" demanded Thalia.

"Downstairs."

Thalia rushed past the duke and looked down over the bannister into the entrance hall. A few guards left, passing words to their friends as they started their day. But, between them, Scar lingered silently, a bleak and curiously blank look on his face. As though it had been wiped clean of all emotion. At least he didn't wear the plate armor of his guard, only plain clothes.

He gazed up and saw Thalia staring down at him. A predatory smile stretched his mouth. "Come back to see the show?" he asked, advancing up the stairs.

Thalia turned back to the duke. "I'll prove it's not him," she swore.

Trapped, Duke Eltan backed against the wall into Scar's office. Thalia drew her dagger, remembering the animalistic hiss the other mirrorkin gave once wounded. As soon as Scar appeared in the doorway, she drew her blade against his arm. The cloth gave way, a tiny smarting cut beading with blood.

Scar's features transformed, shimmering very so briefly. And he hissed. Duke Eltan gave a soft cry and backed further into the corner. At once, seeing what he had done, Scar drew his sword and rounded on Thalia.

Even without armor, the mirrorkin was a fierce opponent and Thalia struggled to hold back his strength against her blades. Her boots skittered on the floor as he pushed back.

"Is there any way to hold him?" Thalia asked Khalid.

Gritting his teeth, Khalid drove one of his swords into not-Scar's leg. The hiss became a growling groan and he stumbled to his knees. In the moment, she was able to break the block and turn his sword to the ground. She kicked it away.

Blood flooded the stones under him, spreading through the mortar in rivers and ponds. Alarmingly fast. Not-Scar's hiss turned into a whine as he pressed against the wound in his leg. His face began to grey, sweaty hair pressed to his forehead. He had minutes.

"What's Sarevok planning?" she asked. "Which nobles and guards does he have replaced? How many are you?"

Not-Scar spat at her, snarling but silent.

"The council is calling a vote," said Duke Eltan, looking at the remains of his friend. They all turned towards him. He had paled and clutched to the desk to support himself, but his voice remained strong. "Grand Duke Entar died in the night, an Amnish assassination."

"You were to be as well," said not-Scar in a dry voice. Rage and bitterness looked so out of place on the honest man's face. "Replaced on the council by one who would vote for the Lord Anchev."

"When's this vote?" asked Thalia.

Duke Eltan stared at her, eyes wide. "The first draft is today. Everyone will be there. If the vote is unanimous, then…"

"Sarevok could be grand duke before noon," said Jaheira grimly.

Not-Scar's breathing slowed, becoming shallow. His mouth twisted into a false parody of a smile. "Good luck."


	23. Chapter 22: End of the Road

"What about my daughter?"

"She should be safe," Thalia assured the duke. "Sarevok commanded the mirrorkin to not harm children." She wasn't sure how well they would listen to the order or if it had changed, but there was no point telling him that.

Duke Eltan's skin turned milk white again, though his lips thinned in determination. At his side, they made their way through the city. It seemed much too fine a day to storm into the duchal palace and accuse a nobleman of corruption. In the songs, there were crashing thunderstorms and bolts of well-timed lightning. But, now, there was only them, armored and bloodied in broad daylight. The duchal palace loomed over the rooftops, awaiting them and the vote.

"How do you plan to defeat so many mirrorkin?" Duke Eltan asked. Worry had edged from his voice, replaced by a calm concern.

"With style and grace," said Imoen.

"And how to tell them apart from the true article?" asked the duke, looking between them. "Aside from stabbing them."

"M-Mirrorkin tribes will scatter if their employer is k-killed," said Khalid.

The duke swallowed heavily at the thought of execution in the palace. "If it must be done," he said at last.

Standing before the palace, it seemed even larger than it had a few days before. Nobles in fine silks and furs meandered up the stairs and flowed into the palace. Thalia felt as a dwarf before it and rested a hand on the hilt of her sword. Varscona's warmth calmed her, but only just.

The nearest Flaming Fist inclined their heads. "Your Grace," they said as one, opening the heavy doors.

Duke Eltan took the steps three at a time, leading them into a wing of the palace they hadn't been in before. A magnificent ballroom opened before them; marble floors and gilded oak chairs, an elegant stone fireplace and a glittering chandelier. A string quartet sat in the corner, a cheery dance number springing from their instruments. Servants in black carried trays and drinks, weaving between the high lords and ladies as they enjoyed themselves before the official proceedings.

Thalia found Sarevok at once. At ease, in the green velvet doublet she had seen him in before with a ceremonial sword on his belt, he had a woman at his side with long curly blonde hair. At once, Thalia knew this was Cythandria. Winski, in flowing green robes, lingered behind him.

Feeling distinctly bloodstained and out of place in heavy armor, she knew their arrival was already attracting the attention of those nearest. The longer she delayed, the more difficult it would get. She summoned her courage and drew her dagger. She took the first steps towards Sarevok.

"Ah, Duke Eltan!" someone cried. A man drifted to the center of the ballroom, everyone's eye on him. He raised his voice and addressed the gathered crowd. "Lords and ladies of the Sword Coast, if I may have your attention! Now, that everyone's arrived, we may begin with the first draft. I do not wish to downplay the tragedy of the loss of Grand Duke Entar Silvershield, but in such times of crisis we must not show weakness to the southern devils. A space has opened on the Council of Four, a space what must be filled for justice to be found."

Conversation bubbled from every corner of the room, tinged with fear. The crowd closed to her, Thalia couldn't advance any further. Her palm sweated around the dagger as she watched Sarevok.

"What about the rumours of Amn mobilizing for war?" a lord with a bushy moustache called. "Why aren't we preparing?"

"My dear Lord Honrim," another scoffed, "you can't possibly think of the Sword Coast going to war! With the iron shortage, why, we struggle enough to outfit suitable guardsmen!"

"What of the Zhentarim?" yet another said. "Have they not stuck their fingers in the pie yet? I thought they had something to do with the Nashkel Mines."

"Duke Entar, gods rest his soul, was poisoned by the Shadow Thieves of Amn," said the lord with the moustache. It waggled with indignation. "If that's not clear to the rest of you, it is to me. Amn wants war, and I'm more than ready to serve it up."

"This is madness," said Jaheira, stunned.

Thalia couldn't take her eyes off Sarevok and his satisfied smile as he watched the discord.

"This was orchestrated," scoffed Edwin, as though he could read her thoughts. "And not even very well."

The man in the center of the ballroom called for quiet. "All your questions will be answered in due time," he said. "While it is true that the mark left behind on Duke Entar's body resembles that of the Shadow Thieves—"

" _Resembles_?" yelped the moustache. "That's preposterous! The signature left on the body  _was_  the mark of the Shadow Thieves."

Sarevok stepped forward. As a stark contrast to the bickering noblemen, he was calm and composed, his deep voice reverberating with an assurance to comfort them all. "The rumours of Amnish forces garrisoning at the border are true," he said. "As are the agents of the Zhentarium who now fill the countryside. But, don't fear, we are not bereft of a defence. Although the recent Zhentish attempt at depriving us of the most valuable war resource, iron, has weakened us, it has not crippled us. When my father was most recently murdered, I was able to inherit the stockpiles of iron he and his brothers so selfishly hoarded. I give this to the city as a token of goodwill."

He nodded to another man near him, who brought forward a set familiar blue cloth bags. The bags of holding they had given to Scar. It rattled with vast quantities of metal, echoing through the high ceiling. The whispers of the other nobles turned approving.

"Instead of waiting for the war to come to us, we will take the war to them!" demanded Sarevok. "You all know me, my lords and ladies. The dukes of the Council of Four were once strong, but time has worn them into cowardly, useless fools and they have let—"

"I beg your pardon, my lord?" asked Duke Eltan in a hard voice.

Sarevok turned to him with scorn, but found himself face to face with Thalia and the rest of the party. His eyes widened then darkened. She could see the wheels turning in his head. Thalia bared her teeth in a grin.

The whispers of the fickle nobility changed again. While Thalia and the party Duke Eltan had dragged into the palace were bloody and out of place, Duke Eltan was a beloved public figure. Such an insult to his face was just not done.

"We have cultivated a garden of peace with Amn for generations," said Duke Eltan. "Just because a few poisonous weeds grow, doesn't mean you must burn down the whole farm." He stepped forward into the open space and faced the nobility. "If people are willing to say I am so useless here, I would gladly go myself to meet in Athkatla with the Council of Six and smooth this mess."

Sarevok had lost the nobility, Thalia knew. A scattering of noblemen still cried for war, but many just looked at them, bewildered. The line between mirrorkin and true men started to become clearer. Frenzied arguments broke out among them, as the mirrorkin tried to edge towards war. Sarevok's eyes flickered between them as he spluttered, searching for a response.

Thalia edged to the nearest nobleman she could and, praying she was right, nicked a wound on his wrist. The lord, who was deep in argument with a lady, rounded on her and hissed.

"By the Nine Hells," cursed the lady, backing up, her face white as a sheet.

Fear spread through the nobility like a deathly plague. Whispers of mirrorkin and Amnish imposters met with reassurances that everything was fine, and to just cast the damned vote. But the spell had been broken. All glared at each other as suspicion festered.

"I have seen it myself," called Duke Eltan. The whispers halted, all attention on him. "My own good friend, the Commander Scar of the Flaming Fist, was murdered, his likeness perverted in an attempt to kill me. And who, who among us would not want me here this morning?"

As one, the eyes of the mortal nobles turned to Sarevok. Panic wrought behind his eyes and Thalia was quite sure there had been no backup plan to this. It was over.

"You, Duke Eltan," spat Sarevok with a scowl, "you who bring Amnish spies into the palace, attempt to accuse  _me_  of espionage?"

"The Harpers are many things, my lord," said Duke Eltan. "Meddlers, arrogant, and, above all, expensive. But not agents of foreign powers."

Jaheira scorned the accusation, but held her silence as the lords continued to squabble.

"My house was murdered entirely by these so-called Harpers," shouted Sarevok, his voice full of an actor's anguish.

"These Harpers were arrested for the crimes," said Duke Eltan fairly, immune to the outburst, "but now we know mirrorkin walk among us. Less than half of us are undecided, uncertain in the face of unsubstantiated rumours of Amnish and the Zhents. The rest scream for blood and vengeance, with you as their Grand Duke to lead them into war." Duke Eltan held a pregnant silence. He inclined his head to the moustached lord with a cold smile. "Even those lords older than you, who have seen battle and led armies themselves. They, too, want to follow an unproven boy of an all but dead house. We all know the Anchevs had no hope for power, not since the ugly incident with Reiltar and your mother."

Sarevok trembled, but whether from rage or fear she didn't know. His face reddened and he drew his sword, the lonely ring of steel echoing in the hall. Guardsmen, the Harpers, and Thalia drew their weapons in response. The room silenced, the air heavy with fear as everyone held their breath.

"Kill them all," he said through gritted teeth.

It was as though someone upended a bucket of red paint. Before Thalia could move, the floor and walls were slicked with screams and blood. The mirrorkin shimmered, losing all appearance of humanity. Guardsmen and nobles alike attacked the fleeing mortals.

Thalia pushed through the desperate crowd. "Move," she shouted. If she got to Sarevok, if she could show the mirrorkin their master was dead, they could end this. One fell swoop, one more death.

No one moved. All pushed against her, trashing frantically with all their limbs to escape the slaughter.

She was briefly aware of Jaheira and Khalid, moving in with spell and whirling blades, of missiles and the vicious crackling of spells filling the air. Thalia had eyes only for Sarevok. Using his ceremonial sword, he had hacked to brutal pieces the serving man nearest. When she neared, she could see the white rage in every feature.

He snarled at her. He wore the same manic rage she remembered from the clearing, all those weeks ago. The wounded pride of a defeated man who thought he was a god.

He raised his blade. Her muscles tensed in anticipation of a parry. Parry, then a trip. He didn't wear armor and the floor would be easy enough to fall on. It could expose his throat, throw him off guard. One more death.

But before Thalia could finish her thoughts or Sarevok even attack, a parched white hand gripped Sarevok's shoulder and a familiar incantation wove through the air.

" _No_!" The scream ripped her throat red.

The dimensional door snapped open and then shut around Sarevok and Winski, barely a whisper left behind.

She stared at the spot where they had vanished. They had to be near, but where? Elsewhere in the palace? Out on the streets? He was gone.

Hot tears pulled behind her eyes. A tightness gripped her heart. Fears and hopeless sights of the future cluttered her mind as she stood, shocked still. Her fingers shook around the grip of her sword.

He was gone.

But there were still mirrorkin to deal with.

Shimmering figures pursued and feasted on the screams and flesh of the dead and dying. She joined the end of the battle, slicing through the figures. Hisses mingled with the screams. By the time silence reigned, the floor was filled with bodies, no longer distinguishable between mirrorkin and mortal. Blood, disjointed limbs, and worse littered the space between corpses, a thick scent of blood and bile in the air.

"Did you get Sarevok?" said Jaheira, panting as she leaned on her quarterstaff. She laid a hand to her own torso and healed a sharp wound.

Thalia couldn't speak. She walked through the battlefield in a daze, out into the entrance hall. Apparently they had held the door. A few mortals nursed grevious wounds, wide-eyed and hysterical. They sobbed and clung to each other, covered in the blood of their fellows. Among them, Duke Eltan sat on the steps of the grand staircase. He fared little better.

"Thalia," he said in a voice thick with tears. "I… I didn't expect that."

"No one could have predicted he would massacre the lords," she said, sitting next to him. She should've, though. It's not as if Sarevok would meekly resign himself to being arrested and disgraced.

He hung his head in his hands. Blood smeared from his fingers to his face. "If I knew such poison had infested the Anchevs…"

"Well, you didn't," said Thalia.

Khalid and Imoen urged the nobles to clear from the palace, to go to the nearest chantry for healing, or return home as soon as they could. A few limped forward, but most stayed, unable to stand, bound by fear or injury. At Imoen's prodding, Viconia offered a hand to those who struggled the most.

Imoen caught sight of Thalia. "I'm gonna run back to the chantry and get a priest," she said. "Wanna come with?"

"Go," said Duke Eltan weakly, standing. "You have done your work. Now, is the time of noblemen and healers to deal with the aftermath."

Thalia thanked him, unable to tell him that this was not yet the aftermath. Sarevok still lived. She doubted he would make another power grab for the Council of Four, but her debt with him was not yet settled.

She pulled Khalid and Viconia away from the wounded mortals, gathering Imoen and Jaheira in a quiet corner where they wouldn't be overheard.

Thalia cast another eye back to the duke. "Sarevok's not dead," she said shortly.

Imoen gasped. "What do you mean? What  _happened_?"

" _Dimensional Door_ ," said a snide voice. "Very clever, surely not his own work."

"Go fetch a healer," snapped Thalia. "Unless you have something to add."

Edwin rolled his eyes and sighed. "I could tell you where the  _Door_ went, though—"

Thalia's heart skipped a beat. "Where?"

"—I suspect he will be long gone by the time we get there," finished Edwin, throwing her a dark eye.

"The  _Door_  was Winski's move," said Thalia slowly, as though he were a moron. It took all she had to not throttle him. "Sarevok wanted to make one final stand. He's not going to appreciate being dragged away from it."

Edwin considered it and nodded. "It went down, deep. But if you think  _I_  will follow you into sewers—"

"Is there a basement to the palace?" Viconia turned to Jaheira and Khalid.

"There's an undercity," offered Jaheira. An unfortunate look marred her face. "Baldur's Gate is built on the ruins of the last city of the—"

"Excellent," said Thalia in a rush. "How do we get there?"

Khalid sighed and touched Jaheira's shoulder. "I'll deal with Duke Eltan," he said.

Imoen jumped up. "We still got all those scrolls of  _Dimensional Door_!" she said.

Edwin sniffed at that. "I believe you will find that  _I_  actually—where did you get those?"

Imoen unfolded a page from her own spellbook, marked in dozens of runes and lines of arcane symbols. "Oh, just lying around," she said with a brilliant smile. "So, how exactly do we work this thing when I don't know where the place looks like that I wanna go to?"

Edwin tried to snatch the paper from her hands, but Imoen lithely evaded his reach.

"I'm just trying to learn," she said innocently. "Hey!"

So focused she was on Edwin, she missed Viconia, who grabbed it and pulled Jaheira aside to speak of the undercity. Duke Eltan bowed his head as Khalid told him about Sarevok, that they were about to pursue him through the undercity.

"She just stole my scroll," said Imoen, her face such a perfect expression of confused betrayal that Thalia had to chuckle.

"That you stole from him," said Thalia.

"Where do you think Tamoko ended up?" asked Imoen. "Didn't see her out here, and if this was supposed to be Sarevok's big shining moment…"

Thalia sighed. She didn't want to think where Tamoko ended up. She had good intentions, but it was too little too late. Thalia had a suspicion Tamoko was lying face down in an alley somewhere.

"I don't know," she said.

Viconia returned and removed her hood and veil. Her perpetually stoic expression was tinged with a grimness. "Are you ready?" she asked.

Before any could answer, she cast the scroll and a screaming portal opened. Shadowy within, the thin edges fluttered like a curtain in the wind. Thalia's heart strings tightened and she was the first to step through it.

At first, all she saw was darkness. She blinked to adjust her eyes from the bright sunlight of the duchal palace to the ruins of the abandoned city. Things took shape in the darkness: a scattering of crumbling stone walls, a freestanding rusted iron gate. At first the silence deafened her, but, as the portal snapped shut and the others appeared behind her, she could hear something.

Shouting, in the distance. An argument. The dim trickle of water and runoff.

A cough, much nearer.

Conjured magelights shone spotlights across the desolate world. A biting cold dampness clung to the thin air. Demolished stubs of walls and houses erected a maze in the dark cave. Half-buried paving stones and rotted wood that might have been furniture scattered. Beyond, fires and torches glowed before a larger, more intact building. Rubble from both the city and the cave piled at every turn.

"The Fist don't like people trying to adventure in the undercity," said Jaheira in a whisper, as though the ceiling would cave in with anything louder. "Too many accidents."

"Did you hear that?" asked Thalia, holding out a hand for quiet.

Another cough, wet with blood.

Drawing their weapons, they followed it. Against the grey stones, brilliant blood shone in the magelight. A trail of faint droplets, which turned into a puddle against one of the few walls that still stood. Sitting in that puddle was an old man with a cruel face and thin white hair. His robes, once grand and green, now were soaked through, despite his best efforts. Withered bloodsoaked hands pressed against the darkest of the stains.

"Well, well," he said in a dry voice, "I thought you would follow us."

Winski.

He coughed, his lips shining red. "Not that it matters, of course," he said bitterly. "Not anymore. He's already beaten. I told him to flee, gather strength, but…" He winced as he pressed his hands harder against his wounds, his breath coming slow and shallow. A grey tinge marred his face. "His life is over because he believes so."

"Is it just him down here?" asked Thalia.

Winski smiled, blood in his teeth. "A few loyal allies remain."

Thalia tore her eyes off the dying man and scoffed. "How did he ever expect it to work? Just, starting a war and, what, ascend as a god?"

A mad determination made all the more mad by his calmness entered Winski's eyes. "If you've the arrogance of a god and can kill like a god, who's to say you're not a god?"

"The gods," said Thalia dryly.

"Leave this one to suffer in his lifeblood," said Viconia with a sneer. "We have a greater foe than an old man."

Winski coughed once more. The bloodflow slowed behind his fingers and his eyes fluttered, unfocused.

Thalia turned from him, the last words his spoke echoing in her ears.

At a word from Jaheira, the magelights extinguished themselves. The building rose before them; engraved pillars worn and crumbling, powdery mortar whispering away from between the stones. A pair of rusted iron braisers kindled bright fires, the only beacons of light in the abandoned city. More conversation came from within, but there was a single guard standing outside.

They crouched low, hugging the remains of a wall for cover. Imoen took up her bow, lining a shot. Thalia put her hand on the bow and pushed it down.

"Wait," she said, frowning.

The guard shuffled, uncertain, shoulders heaving with sobs. He moved to warm his hands by the brazier and Thalia saw it wasn't a man at all.

Thaila walked out from behind the wall, a hand still on her sword in case she was wrong. Jaheira and Imoen hissed warnings at her.

"I know you're there," said Tamoko, not taking her eyes from the fire. Her voice hung heavy, dead. "You've… You've done all you must, I suppose."

"Does Sarevok know you spoke with me?" asked Thalia, eyeing the door that had now fallen silent.

Tamoko faced her, her dark eyes wet. She smiled without humour. "Yes," she said plainly. "He knows I betrayed him." She looked to the rusted metal doors of the building she guarded. "And so, he has left me to stand in your way—to die."

Thalia sighed. A shred of Tamoko's resigned bitterness entered her, cracking through her anger. One more life Sarevok felt compelled to destroy.

"You aren't my enemy," said Thalia. "Just, go."

Tamoko crouched to stoke the fire with the end of her mace, as though she hadn't heard her. "I know that if I defeat you, he will continue elsewhere with his plans. And if you defeat me, you shall go on to kill him."

"A broken heart is no reason to throw your life away," said Thalia. She gestured back to where the rest of her party still hid behind the wall. "You may defeat me, but not all of us."

Tamoko looked up at her, her voice shattered. "How would I ever forgive myself if I stepped aside and let you kill him without lifting a finger?"

"You did lift a finger," insisted Thalia. "I read the journal."

Tamoko cringed at the reminder and gave a long, rattling sigh.

"You did all you could, but you know he died a long time ago," said Thalia.

Tamoko belted the mace and stood. A wet steak on her face shone in the firelight. "I am sorry," she said solemnly, "for the part I played in your father's death."

Touched, Thalia nodded. She understood. It wasn't a true apology. They were all just doing what they needed to do.

Without another word or glance, Tamoko left. The absolute darkness of the ruins swallowed her whole in moments.

"Wow," said Imoen, looking back at the city Tamoko had vanished in. "How did you know she didn't want to fight us?"

"She's a mercenary," said Thalia. "There's nothing left for her here."

She pressed a hand to the icy rusted iron doors of the building. It might have once been a temple. Her fingers shook. Voices echoed from within. There was no where else for him to run, only a few allies of his left. No more tricks, no more lies. No more middlemen. Sarevok waited, trapped like a mouse, in this temple deep under Baldur's Gate, for her to kill. Nothing stopped her except the door.

Leaning with all her weight, she pushed it open.

It screamed, scraping metal on stone, as it revealed the temple's inner sanctum. A small temple, as far as temples went, nothing was ever particularly exceptional about it. Stone supports had fallen from the ceilings into rubble, leaving gaping holes in the roof. But the floor had been swept, the rock cleared away. Candles and modern bookshelves and chairs stood at the back of the room, on a high dias. Some time ago, Sarevok had likely used the temple and abandoned city as a hideout.

Three figures argued around a cracked white altar. A vast metal disk hung on the wall behind them. It had fallen to tarnish and had perhaps been bronze in a former life, but the details could still be read. The smiling skull of Bhaal.

The first figure was instantly recognisable as Sarevok, clad in his spiked and horned black armor, marked with Bhaal's sigil. Shalk hummed next to him, vaguely humanoid but shapeless. The third, a mage, quivered, keeping the altar between him and Sarevok.

At their arrival, the arguments fell silent and Sarevok turned to them, latching the last straps of his armor securely.

"No other could have lived to oppose me in person," he said. His voice rebounded off the stone walls, deep and full of a familiar vicious arrogance. She would never forget that voice. "Of course, it will not matter in the end. Ultimately, I will prevail, and a new era will be born."

Last she had heard it quite like that was in the clearing outside Candlekeep.

He advanced on them, down the steps and closing what little distance stood between them.

"A new era?" repeated Thalia in disbelief. "And what exactly are you going to find there for you?"

He stopped in his tracks. She could see his eyes through the visor, wide and mad, but confused. "What do you mean?" he asked. "You've felt the call — you must've, to be here. The Dread Father's crown shall be mine and I shall rule, born again as the new Lord of Murder."

Thalia cast a wary eye over the mage and the shapeshifter, sizing them up. Maybe, if they could get the drop on them, it wouldn't be too difficult a fight. The mage unnerved her, though. What if he was more powerful than Edwin? She had to keep Sarevok talking.

"For what?" asked Thalia. She placed a hand on the hilt of her dagger. "Reiltar's dead. Winski's dead. What's the damned point of it? You really think Bhaal will just let you take his power?"

Sarevok's breath whistled through his teeth. "You sound like her now," he said. "Tamoko." He spat her name as a curse.

"She's not dead," said Thalia seriously. "I let her go. She's making her way to the surface, but you can catch her."

"I could no more back away from my role than you could assume it," he said, but his voice wavered as he swallowed further words.

He hesitated. She held his eye and struggled to control her own breathing. If he agreed, if he walked past her, she could take the opportunity to strike him down when he turned his back. It would be a bitter end for him, but it would be quick and spare them all a bloody battle.

"Mortals," said Shalk. He hissed a cruel laugh, breaking the spell. "I don't suppose I'll never understand them. Power, destiny, fresh blood — ah, it is nothing before the memory of lost  _love_."

Sarevok rounded from her to face Shalk and stomped back to the dias.

 _Now_.

"I have had just about enough out of you," he snapped, "you grey pompous— _Excuse me_?"

He spun around with a laugh of disbelief, catching Thalia's raised sword on his mailed gauntlet. It glanced off the metal harmlessly. She backed up, matching his steps. Her heart raced like a frightened rabbit, caught in the act. He unsheathed his claymore, the heavy black steel blade that had taken Gorion's life.

"Now, what was that all about?" he asked, his voice soft and amused. His eyes flashed through the thick helm. "Were you trying to kill me? Do I look like the type of man who dies?"

All thoughts of sparring Sarevok's life and fears about the oncoming battle fled her. She couldn't take her eyes off his sword.

"You do to me," she said, lashing out.

As soon as she struck, the temple erupted into chaos. A fireball exploded at the back of the room, searing magical heat scalding the stonework with a tremble. Shalk and the mage both screamed, running off the dias. By then, they were too near to try another fireball. The mage worked fast, drawing components to weave his first spells. A portal opened, fiendish beasts advancing towards them. Jaheira and Khalid rushed forward to deal with them, but a second Jaheira met them with the fiendish wolves. Identical in every way, the second Jaheira whirled with Khalid and his wife. Arrows and arcane bolts flew through the air. A haze of magic covered the temple like a blanket.

But she had eyes only for Sarevok. The hulking warrior of spiked armor who haunted her nightmares and lurked in every shadow now danced before her, killing sword in hand. Though not nearly as strong as the mirrorkin, his strength was terrible to hold. Her arms shook with the effort of keeping a block and every blow turned aside reverberated through her very bones.

Portals screamed around her, but she didn't knew whether it was friends or foes that exited them. Stink of rugged animals and cold elementals. Bone-shuddering cracks echoed like a giant's footsteps with every spell. Magical smoke and clouds swirled around her legs, biting like acid and filling her lungs with a pungent stink.

Sarevok's sword swung through the air with a black hunger, an unknown magical hum no doubt augmented by his own blood. Their swords crashed relentlessly, shedding magical sparks with every collision. She matched him, grunt for grunt, as she evaded. But each opportunity was sliced shut before she could strike.

Out of the corner of her eye, Thalia saw Jaheira fighting with Shalk's clone of her, Khalid anxiously standing between them as each Jaheira screamed at him to attack the other. With each holding their own and unable to land a hit, there was no way to tell who was true. He hesitated at the pleas. One of the Jaheiras lashed out, her quarterstaff turning into a fleshy sword as she drove it through his throat.

Jaheira screamed. Thalia's heart fell. Sarevok dominated her vision again and she feinted, avoiding the edge of his greatsword by the thinnest of margins. It scored a razor sharp line through the leather of her collar. An icy tremble of magic wove through her blood.

Shalk turned both his arms to swords and flew into a whirlwind of blades. They bit into Jaheira's quarterstaff like axes to a tree. Splinters and shards flew. As the staff cracked at long last, he found his opportunity to tear her open. As Jaheira fell, a small blade entered Shalk's side and he hissed a shriek. Viconia.

Thalia shouted for Jaheira, but Sarevok's next attack nearly cleaved her in two. She fell to the ground to avoid it, her eyes tearing at the smoking cloud. His sword clanged off the stonework behind he as she rolled aside, scrambling to her feet.

Her breath came in shallow pants. Her heart raced as she spotted what remained of Khalid and Jaheira. This was not going well, not well at all. Her armor felt suffocatingly heavy as she continued to fight. They could be raised, she reminded herself. They could be raised. But now they lay as corpses in a dead city, their blood running through the stones. It wasn't fair, not to them.

And she was outmatched. She had known it from the first strike. She might hold her own, maybe for a little while. But there was no way she could defeat him like this, a champion's duel. He was too skilled, too strong, too practiced. The best she could hope for was to keep him busy and hope another could finish him.

Edwin and the mage battled toe-to-toe, each casting dire spells, which the other deflected with their own defensive wards. Whirling purple shields enveloped them both, but Edwin's wavered thinly against the onslaught of arcane bolts.

With a faint whirring, a purple magical shield wrapped around Sarevok, a perfect bubble. Just as Gorion had cast on her in the clearing.

Blood raging in her ears, Thalia fought against him with a new fervor. But all she did was make mistakes. He pushed against her, forcing her backwards, further and further. She wanted to check how much space she had left, but couldn't tear her eyes off the blade that inched ever closer.

Sarevok cried out, his blade wobbling uncertainly.

Viconia.

Thalia wobbled, relief pouring through her and wringing tears of exhaustion from her. Her knees fell painfully to the ground.

Viconia stood behind Sarevok, her shortblade buried to the hilt in one of the joints of his backplate. Sarevok spun on her as a wild animal. She dodged the first strike, the second — but not the third.

"No!" The word rasped, tearing through Thalia's throat.

Sarevok raised his claymore and brought it down in a feint. Viconia went right, but the blade followed her. It whispered through her leather armor, slicing through flesh, before catching at her spine and tearing her apart. She choked, a soft wet cry leaving her pale lips.

Sarevok withdrew his blade and Viconia fell.

Thalia stared at the shining dark blood on his sword as it dripped to the ground. Another. He pulled her short sword from him and dropped it with a laugh. It clattered hollowly. Placing a mailed gauntlet to the streaming wound, a light blossomed from the hand and Thalia knew he had healed himself.

Sarevok laughed, a cold laugh. It warbled indistinctly through his magical shield. Victory.

Thalia forced herself to her feet and swallowed back her tears. She could cry when she was dead. For now, she was a Daughter of Murder, and she had a debt to pay.

She summoned what little reserves she had and returned to the fight. She ducked under his overhand cut and landed a strike to the lobster mail of his fingers. He cringed at the bruise and she landed another, turning his sword away. An anger pounded desperately in her ears, but it still wasn't enough.

Thalia felt the tides turn back again, every so slightly. He pushed against her and she stumbled back, unable to hold the block against his attacks, only retreat. Her arms struggled, too exhausted to parry. And then she felt it. The wall behind her. Her stomach turned to ice.

One more dodge and her shoulder slammed into the corner. End of the road. The pommel of his sword lashed out and hit her fingers, knocking her sword from her hands. She shifted her dagger to her right hand. Her broken knuckles screamed with pain. Thalia gritted her teeth and looked back up at Sarevok. His eyes glimmered at her. She held her hands steady as her legs trembled, threatening to give way. She would not scream. She would not beg.

Sarevok redoubled the grip on his sword.

She would not show fear.

He raised the blade, a towering executioner.

She would die as Gorion had.

It whizzed through the air above her.

"Imoen, run!" she shouted, her voice barely above the din above the magical battle.

In that instant, everything happened at once. The purple shield around Sarevok fluttered away as a candle blown out. Another portal screamed open, a shrieking peal echoing in her ear. A hand gripped her shoulder and wrenched her back. The black claymore glanced off the stonework above her head.

"No!" screamed Sarevok.

And then another portal erupted in the center of the temple floor, full of red smoke. Dozens of fiendish beasts left it, a mismatch of animal parts and nightmares flying, crawling, and charging out. And they found their prey. Sarevok.

The portal snapped shut behind her. Thalia struggled to her feet, weak and dazed, clinging to a wall for support. The portal dropped her at the door of the temple, where Edwin and Imoen still stood. Pale but determined, Imoen had dropped her bow long ago, and held his Wand of Monster Summoning in a shaking hand. The gem pulsed deep blue, malevolent in its shine. Some feet away, Sarevok's mage had fallen in a pool of blood, arrows quilling his stomach and throat.

Sarevok drowned in the onslaught of fiends, cleaving them apart with a fearsome rage. But the wall of Planar flesh prevented him from advancing any further. He bashed a flying wolf-like creature, but claws raked across his chestplate, gouging long runs with a shriek of nails on chalkboard.

Thalia released her hold on the wall and limped forward. Imoen shouted, her voice a distant and tinny noise many leagues away. She seethed through gritted teeth and continued on, dagger in hand. Her fingers screamed in protest as her grip tightened. 

Sarevok continued his ceaseless battle. As soon as a fiend fell, another two charged from the smoking red portal to take its place. The bestial crowd swallowed him whole. He spun, fighting on every side as the creatures attacked. His wide eyes jolted with panic and fear. The beasts wrestled the sword from his grasp. It hit the stones with a hollow clang.

The crowd parted at Thalia’s approach, smelling friend. A burning pain trembled through her bones, a spark ripped from deep within. Consumed by the vulnerable sight of Sarevok, she felt it obey her will. The Planar beasts whispered back into their own dimensions as a puff of smoke.

As the smoke cleared, Sarevok’s form swam into view. His black armor had been torn, rendered by claws and maws into scrap metal. Bloody twisted shards surrounded him. He raised his hands desperately.

“Stop. Stop!” he cried through heavy breaths. “Let me live. Let me live, I’ll give you anything. What do you want? Gold? I have gold!”

Thalia took a step forward. He scrambled back.

“More,” she said in a hoarse voice. 

“I’ll leave the Sword Coast,” swore Sarevok. “My family’s manor, our fortune.”

“More.”

Sarevok whipped up his visor. The face of the young man twisted, eyes flickering. “I’ll never pursue the prophecy,” he said. His breath hitched. “Bhaal’s legacy is yours.”

Thalia felt her heart thudd uselessly in her chest. She turned the dagger over in her hands. “It doesn’t matter,” she said quietly. “You could give me anything I ask for.”

“I would. I swear it. What do you want?”

Thalia met his gaze again and gave a rattling sigh. A burning lingered behind her eyes, but there was nothing supernatural about it. “I want my father back, you bastard.”

In a single motion, she lunged forward and thrust the dagger through Sarevok’s eye. He staggered and fell, a waterfall of blood pouring from the slit over his armor.

Thalia collapsed at his side, her lungs too tired to draw breath. She wrenched the dagger from his head and dropped it on the ground. Overwhelmed with some nameless emotion, she couldn't tear her eyes from his corpse. Her numb hands fumbled at the latches of his helmet. She knew his face, so ordinary, perhaps even handsome. She saw it smile, scowl, and scream. She remembered his journal, full of faint rays of disappearing sunlight and hope for a better life.

She didn't regret killing him, she couldn't. Not after all he had done, the chaos he had brought, the assassins, the dreams of divinity. Gorion.

Her hands finally removed the helm. In death, Sarevok's face was a mess. The dagger had punctured his eye, hilted in his brain. Sweat and blood soaked his dark hair, but the rest of his face was still.

Perhaps Tamoko's man had found peace.

Thalia was supposed to feel relief, wasn't she?

"We should go," a small voice said. "Get to see about that healer, bring them down here to help the… the rest of them. Before it's been too late."

Another portal opened behind her, a screaming hiss.

"Want to come with?" asked Imoen.

Thalia shook her head, transfixed by Sarevok.

"I'll be right back," promised Imoen. And she was gone.

Thalia had waited so desperately, dreamed of this moment for what felt like forever, and yet she couldn't enjoy it. Exhaustion threatened to overwhelm her and brought silent tears to her eyes.

She placed a hand on his chest, the dents that run through the black metal. It seemed to swallow the light, black tendrils weaving—

That wasn't right. She withdrew her hand as though it had bit her. She backed away from the body, scrambling away on all four. Black smoke left every hole and hinge of the armor. It rushed thick from his nose and mouth, the mortal wound in his face. The smoke curled across the floor, an absolute black, as though a living void in the world. A horrible burning scent not unlike roasting meat filled the air and the smoke began to carry charred flakes, gritty ash.

Moments passed and Sarevok's nearly peaceful face faded into a glittering dust, like a thousand stars. The smoke fell into the floor, disappearing from the world, leaving behind only an empty and battered suit of armor.

"Another Bhaalspawn dead," said a horrid voice.

Thalia could only weep.


	24. Epilogue

Days passed before Thalia felt like anything approaching normal. Endlessly grateful, Duke Eltan had arranged for guest suites in the duchal palace — "At least until the feast," he had insisted — but all the finery in the Sword Coast couldn't have prevented her nightmares. In them, Sarevok still lived, a smoking black demon with shuddering claymore. He lived in every shadow of the palace and every darkened alley of the city. It took her nearly a week to leave her silken bedroom and pillows of goose feathers.

In the following days, the local clerics managed to resurrect Jaheira, Khalid, and Viconia at the behest of the dukes, with no lasting injuries. The Dawnbringers were particularly horrified at Viconia's drowish heritage, but a few sharp words from Duke Eltan, and they worked on her just the same. Viconia was skeptical of the acceptance all seemed to give her when she awoke. But, days passed without incident, and she abandoned her veil in the duchal palace and moved freely through the city.

The palace was open to them — the libraries, the towers, the sweeping views and balconies over the Sea of Swords. And the kitchens. Imoen took to stealing a basket of baked goods early in the morning. She dragged Thalia and often Viconia out to the highest overlook. There, Imoen would insist on sharing a song or tale. Viconia knew scant few of them and Imoen delighted in telling them all in the wrong order, or mixing pieces up. Viconia's own drowish bard songs were grim and grisly, full of villains and horrors. In the bright sunlight of the palace, it added a romance to the otherwise ordinary peace.

Ships sailed across the seas below, loaded with goods for Kara-Tur and the isles. Thalia couldn't help but wonder if Tamoko was onboard one of them, returning to her homeland. She hoped so.

Letters passed daily between Candlekeep and Baldur's Gate, as a frantic Winthrop was filled in on their adventurers. He was even offered an invitation to the celebration. Duke Eltan promised a return scroll to allow Winthrop entrance back into Candlekeep.

Jaheira and Khalid returned to the Harpers Hall sharpish, to explain to their superiors the goings-on of the iron crisis and what happened in the undercity. They made few casual appearances and Thalia felt things warm between them, as she recapped the battle. Viconia's backstabbing defeat of Shalk, Sarevok slaying her, before turning to Thalia. Once Imoen had killed the nameless wizard who stood by Sarevok to the very end, Edwin had thrown his Wand of Monster Summoning at her and opened a  _Dimensional Door_  to save Thalia.

They saw little and less of Edwin, who kept largely to himself. No more than ten words had passed between them. Often, Thalia felt his eyes on her, watching across a hall or around a corner. It was a dark reminder that this peace was only temporary and soon enough, she would begin to flee the Red Wizards.

But, when the greatest issue in her daily life was when Imoen ate all the peach tarts, it was difficult to fear murderous mad wizards on the other side of the world.

Their nights were spent in the company of the royal dukes and their families, sat in their dining hall for dinner, and then in the drawing room as drinks were brought out. Never had Thalia eaten so well, or so much. When she voiced such things, though, the nobles laughed at her good naturedly and told her to wait for the celebratory feast.

More gold than Thalia could ever hope to spend flowed into their laps. Trips to the bank and lines of credit were made, as the local clothiers and armorers found themselves very busy. A cloak of winter wolf pelts, the chill a comfort on hot summer days. A suit of armor, scalloped steel plates polished to a silver and blue quilted leather. Imoen commissioned dresses and tunics in every shade of pink, trimmed with gold and puffy sleeves for dinners or belted at the middle with dozens of hidden pockets like a mage's robe. Even Viconia had joined them in the city.

At last, the day had come. The nobles had finally broken their stalemate and elected a new duke. Duke Bart Gores, a middling patriarch and loyal friend of Duke Eltan or some such. Thalia hadn't paid so much attention to politics.

The celebration, in the very same grand ballroom Sarevok had massacred the lords in, was to rejoice in the renewed peace of Baldur's Gate and Amn. Some token dignitaries had made their way northward, their accents thick and strange, their skin and beards coarse and dark. Also, the "Heroes of the Sword Coast" were to be introduced alongside the dukes.

This meant another hot soapy bath and one of the lords' squires to help her with her armor. The new suit was ready and, as she slipped into it, and brushed out the knots in her hair, she could almost say she passed as a hero. She didn't feel particularly heroic and didn't feel like celebrating what happened in the undercity, but at least she looked the part. She strapped Varscona to her belt.

She made her way down the hall, and leaned on the railing overlooking the pristine ballroom below. Long tables circled the perimeter, dressed and plated for nobility. Black-suited servants and musicians took directions from the palace's steward as the final preparations were laid. Thalia's stomach tied itself in knots.

But her worries were unfounded. The celebrations went off without a hitch. Winthrop, looking peculiar in a rugged set of canary finery, looked on with tears in his eyes and greeted them with a bone-crunching hug. The Red Wizard was nowhere to be seen, making the evening flow that much smoother. After the grand and awkward introductions, Thalia found the high table and put herself out of sight of the curious noblemen. Strings of violins and cellos echoed in the high ceilings, a cheery and endless melody. Swirling dresses took to the dance floor as the winterwines and rich reds flowed into every available cup. Even the young children, including Duke Eltan's own Violet, were allowed a single small cup for the occasion.

Jaheira and Khalid twirled around the dancefloor in each other's arms, at ease in the court and armored finery. Imoen found herself a ragged group of impressed young noblemen, all too eager to hear the tales of the Heroes of the Sword Coast. Viconia, short and sharp in a gown of cloth-of-silver and black leather, frightened away the admirers and Thalia made sure to stick close to her. They stayed at the table, an easy conversation flowing between them and Duke Eltan's family, greased by laughter and drink.

All the while the courses came and went. With the roads clear of bandits, iron and bounty flowed once more into Baldur's Gate. A white stew, thick with chunks of clam and leeks. Great fish roasted whole and crusted in salt. Tureens of blackened carrots and vibrant green peas. Roast fowl dressed with herbs and stuffed with fried mushrooms. Steaming loaves of fluffy white bread and expansive arrays of cheese — creamy goat's spotted with herbs, vast spiced rounds, and buttery yellow wheels.

Later, came tarts stuffed with every fruit of summer, sweetrolls frosted with lemon sugar, and apples stewed in cinnamon and dripping with cream, but by then Thalia was so stuffed that she could only have two peach tarts, as much as she loved them.

From time to time, Thalia heard Imoen in the midst of another dramatic retelling, over the music and the clangor of plates and conversation.

Even Viconia had little cause to complain about the surface food. She had some reservations about Winthrop, however, who had gone as red as the wine in his glass and gleefully filled the air with the sound of his voice.

"Anyhows, you wouldn't believe the amount of strange folk you get around Candlekeep," said Winthrop with a chuckle. "Slavers and eastern scholars and people like Gorion — old adventurers, looking for a place to retire. And elves! Apologies, my lady, but so many types of elves."

Thalia suppressed a grin at the controlled look of skepticism Viconia gave.

"Apology accepted," said Viconia. She dissected a blueberry tart, separating the fruit from the pastry as she inspected it. "Not many drow, I imagine."

Winthrop laughed, thumping his glass on the wood. A splash of red ran over his fingers. "Oh, no, I'm afraid not," he said. "Been running that inn for near on thirty years and was born in Candlekeep meself. Never did see one like you, missy. Your people must have—"

" _Missy_?" repeated Viconia, outraged.

Thalia patted Viconia's hand and signed for a servant to refill her glass. "There, there," mumbled Thalia. "It's just how Winthrop is. Consider it a sign of affection."

Viconia gulped at her winterwine, eyes flashing. "Where I come from, if a male would disrespect a female such as that—"

Thalia waved a hand and smiled to Winthrop. "Yes, yes, I'm sure something evil involving death and spiders."

Winthrop's eyes widened and, even through his drunkenness, he paled. "Apologies, mis—ah, miss," he said hurriedly.

Thalia laughed and drained the rest of her glass in one. "He likes you, Viconia," she said. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go check on Im."

Tentatively, she stood and reached out a hand to the back of her chair as the world spun around her.

"Are you quite alright?" asked Viconia with a smug smile.

Thalia narrowed her eyes and released the chair, standing on her own. "Quite fine, thank you, missy."

Ignoring Viconia's groan, Thalia made her way through the crowds and puzzle of tables. She spotted Jaheira and Khalid, speaking with the newly crowned duke, and more nobles than she could shake a stick at. She could hardly breathe for the smell of wine and perfume that swam in her head.

Thalia focused very hard on putting one foot in front of the other as she found Imoen's crowded table of admirers. Imoen sat on the table, her boots crossed on the back of a chair. Her intricate hairdo had fallen apart, beaten orange curls falling haphazardly down her shoulders.

"Was it really Sarevok?" one of them asked. "He was always good to me, taught me—"

Imoen held up an impatient hand. "No more interruptions," she said. "Where was I? Oh, Lia!" She beamed and gestured with her own glass. "And this, fine friends, is my sidekick, Thalia the Brave, Slayer of Evil Men in Spiked Armor!"

As all eyes turned to her, Thalia lifted an awkward hand in greeting. "Thanks for that, Im," she said. "Just wanted to check on you, make sure you're doing alright."

"Pshh!" Imoen shook her head. "Look at me. How could I  _not_  be fine?" She spread her arms, pointing to the duchal palace, the party, the wine, the admirers, her own dress of pink silken taffeta paired with her leather road-boots.

"Well, you seem to have got this lot in hand," said Thalia, smiling. "I think I'm gonna get some air."

"See you later," said Imoen cheerfully. She handed her empty glass to one of the young men who filled it for her. "Now, I was at the part where the evil Sarevok had set us up at Candlekeep, in a ploy to murder…"

In no rush to relive the last few weeks, Thalia turned from the table and found her way down a familiar corridor. The twisting maze of identical fine hallways had taken some getting used to, but now she knew the ways almost by heart. She wasn't sure if she could climb the twisting staircases to the highest overlooks, but the one on the ground floor should be good enough.

She pushed open a door with an unsteady step and the small green courtyard filled her nose with the lush cold smell of flowers. She found her stone alcove and sighed against the chill. She armor clinked against the stonework as she stretched her legs. This was the life.

They had spared few thoughts as to what would happen next, but Thalia had no fears. She hadn't shared her heritage with the dukes, but with the money they dumped into their laps, it was enough to buy safety nearly anywhere else. Perhaps go to Neverwinter. They had always welcomed storied heroes. Or maybe Elminster and Gorion had had it right: a distant and isolated commune, hidden away from the world.

And that damned farm. Imoen wouldn't stop yapping about it. Thalia yawned, her head slipping to the side. Imoen had been asking about homesteads in the heartlands and had a few options lined up already.

A crunch of steps on gravel.

Thalia's eyes snapped open. She hadn't even realised they were closed. It was a dream, she knew at once. A fog at the edge of her vision, a dreamy smoothness to her movements.

She placed a cautious hand on the nearest pillar and stared, taking in the wretched dreamscape she found herself in. It was still the duchal palace, but abandoned, fallen to ruin as the undercity once had. A few of the great towers had collapsed, those still standing jutted raggedly into a blood red sky. The grass of the courtyard grew to the knees, yellowed and crooked, the pillars and benches shattered and chipped.

Thalia withdrew her blade, gritting her teeth to bite back fear. This wasn't real. She just had to find Bhaal and banish him again. That was all. Then, she could return to sleep, return to the waking world and the palace again.

Everything would be fine. It always was before.

Thalia held her sword at the ready and followed the sound of footsteps, heavy and dark. A man, a living shadow. He whispered through the bushes. She charged after him. She swung her sword through the hedges grown wild. Branches and leaves flew, but he wasn't there.

A shriek of a laugh, behind her. Below her.

Thalia spun around. A black shadow wavered through her legs, taking form as she stared at it. Human, a man, black clothes took shape. Bone white daggers glowed in the darkness. She gripped Varscona with both hands and plunged it into his center.

The shriek again. But, high. Shrill. Feminine.

As blood poured from the shadow, the duchal palace faded back into sight. But Thalia did not awake. She stayed still, her hands on the sword thrust into the ground. Fog withdrew from her vision, her movements heavy with reality. The shadow did not vanish at her strike.

"Oh, no," Thalia whispered.

Strength left her and she collapsed as a doll cut from its strings. A trembling sob tore at her throat, as she tried to pull her sword from a whimpering and crying child. Thalia's hands slipped from the hilt. A pale face, shining with sweat and terror in the moonlight. Her arms covered with blood, her purple dress tattered and ruined.

"It's okay, it's gonna be okay," said Thalia, but she couldn't raise her voice above a raspy whisper. "Help!" she called. "Please, someone!"

Thalia sobbed. It was too late. It would be far too late. She desperately clutched the broken body of the child to her chest. She knew who it was. Violet Ballard. The only child of Duke Eltan.

Hours slipped by in seconds. Thalia was somewhat aware of the commotion that followed. The struggle as Violet's still-bleeding corpse was pulled from her arms, Duke Eltan's screams of anguish, the shackles around her wrists as she was marched into the dungeons, the questioning that followed. She had no answers to provide. Silence consumed her and she was left to rot.

She lay on the damp rough floor for hours or weeks or seconds. Time ceased to have meaning in the black cells of Baldur's Gate. Dripping water and her own numb sobs cut the silence. She couldn't form words with her mouth or mind, but she had no shortage of tears to give.

Footsteps on stone stairs. It must be a guard. She wasn't allowed visitors. Guards came and went. One brought a stale gruel once a day, a second to continue with the questions. Who hired you? What was your motive? How much were you paid? A third to beat her when answers were not given.

She didn't raise her head from the icy stone floor. The footsteps stopped in front of her cell. A set of keys jangled at the lock and the door creaked open.

"Listen, ma'am," the voice said, "I'm sorry about this. I really am. Duke Eltan's aiming to hang you before the tenday is out and the other dukes are of a mind to follow. But I—" The man sighed.

Thalia moved her heavy head until his face came into sight. A young noble, clean, laced with worry. Somewhat familiar. He glanced behind him every few seconds, a lantern swinging from his hand.

"The Harpers explained your… unique circumstances," he continued, avoiding her eye. "And, after what you and your company have done, this isn't a fair reward."

"Just leave me," said Thalia. The words struck like daggers in her throat. She rolled back over, resigned.

"No! Wait!" the man hissed. "Listen, I can get you out of the city. The Harpers have sworn to me that they will lead you to Elminster, that he knows all about this!"

Thalia hesitated. That was right. Elminster did know about her. Was there a chance he knew how to stop the dreams, end Bhaal's influence on her?

So long as she lived, there was a chance.

Thalia took his outstretched hand and followed his orders in a daze. A heavy roughspun cloak thrown over her shoulders, a change of clothes. A cautious path up the stairs and through a side door. The smell of stables, hard leather reins in her hand. Heavy saddlebags slung over the rump.

And…

A small figure crashed into her, arms wrapping tight around her. Thalia hugged back desperately and put a hand to the back of her head, pulling her close.

"Lia," whispered Imoen against her chest.

"Hurry, come on," the nobleman said anxiously. "Just take Alfie down the road, nice and easy, and meet up with the Harpers at the river gate."

Not needing anymore guidance, Imoen and Thalia clambered up on the horse, Imoen holding on tight behind her.

Thalia took the mare's reins in hand and steered her down into the dark road. She looked back to the man wordlessly, searching for something to say.

He waved his hands at her. "Just  _go_ , before someone finds out what I've done."

Thalia nodded and guided the horse along the roads. The river gate, it let out down by the docks on the Chointhar, near the fish market. In the dead of night, all was quiet.

"Viconia?" whispered Thalia as they rode.

"She left… that night," she said. "Haven't seen her since." Imoen shook her head. "Lia, I'm really sorry," she mumbled against her shoulder.

Thalia shook her head. "Please, just… no."

A salty tang hung in the air. Thalia spotted Jaheira and Khalid, both mounted as well, wearing particularly grim expressions. They nodded to the gate guards and the doors opened to them. Following the Harpers, Thalia guided the horse up a narrow path, up from the river and back onto the Golden Strait. A cold wind rushed over them as they rode, determined to put distance between them and the city before dawn broke.

"What's this about Elminster?" called Thalia as they passed the Friendly Arm Inn. Her voice felt rusty with disuse. "I thought you had never met him before."

A confused silence met her question and Thalia felt a chill run down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

The Harpers slowed, pulling their horses around to face Thalia.

"We… we haven't," said Khalid at last.

"Someone told us about a man who could help you, a sorcerer," said Jaheira. She looked over Thalia's shoulder. With the foreboding darkness of the new moon, none could see more than a few feet before them. "We met him only once, though."

"What does that mean?" asked Imoen, as she felt the atmosphere harden.

"Something's wrong," said Thalia. But she couldn't pull enough of her senses together to say what. "The man who freed me  _knew_  about me," she said in a way that made sure the others understood her. "He said Elminster could help me."

Jaheira and Khalid exchanged a look.

"Who freed you tonight?" demanded Jaheira.

Thalia shrugged. "A young man, a noble, dark hair. I think one of the Gores boys. Nothing special about him. Why, who's this sorcerer?"

"Must b-b-be the same kid," said Khalid. "W-Winston G-Gores."

"He introduced us to the sorcerer, just outside the city," said Jaheira. "He must've been a short man, nearly an elf. His face was covered in burn scars."

"But  _who is he_?"

"I don't know! He didn't give a name!"

"And that didn't seem suspicious to you?"

"Would you rather we leave you for the executioner?"

A flock of crossbow bolts whistled through the air. The horses screamed as the points found them, the animals giving out under them. Imoen fell from the back but Thalia's foot caught in the stirrup and she went down with the horse. The heavy weight collapsed on her leg. She felt a crack and screamed. Thalia wrenched desperately at her useless leg, pushing the dying animal with all her strength. Pain exploded down the bone. But it wouldn't move.

The thunder of horse hooves rode out from the darkness, at all sides. Thalia whipped her head around. Jaheira and Khalid stood, weapons at the ready, but the figures that loomed from the darkness held crossbows. Five, ten, twenty of them. Masked and clad in black, each one on their own sleek steed.

A voice slithered from the darkness. "Make sure the Bhaalspawn remain unharmed. Oh, and take the others, they might prove useful."

Five crossbows fired. A sharp pain in her side, numbness blossomed through her blood. A sleepiness. Blackness threatened her vision. The riders dismounted. Thalia's fingers fumbled for the poisoned barb, but her arms fell to her side and she knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I haven't actually gotten around to playing Seige of Dragonspear yet, but to my understanding the ending of it goes somewhat like that (kill a child in a Dream, be imprisoned, and then released and captured), which sets up the events of the second game.
> 
> To anyone who's made it this far, I sincerely want to thank you. This has been the longest writing project I've ever completed and took ages of editing and re-writing until I felt it was finished. As always, reviews would be really nice. I'd love to hear anything you liked or even things you felt I could improve on. I do wish I could have written more of what happens in Baldur's Gate, but it's one of those video game things where the main quest kicks into high gear and suddenly you can't justify side quests anymore. So, I am sorry about that.
> 
> I am planning to do the next two installments, but don't expect them super soon.


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